I Knew You When
by devirnis
Summary: Before the onset of the Swarm, humanity slowly rebuilds after seventeen years of war. Delta begins to adjust to this newfound peace - but there's a whole lifetime in twenty-five years.
1. I

**[A/N] **The structure of this fic is inspired by the Not Easily Conquered series on AO3 by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears - especially the first piece in the series, A Long Winter. It is one of the best things I have ever read and even if you're not in the Captain America fandom or interested in Steve/Bucky, I highly recommend checking it out. I dream of writing something so stupendously impactful.

The general tone of this fic is inspired by the song I Knew You When by Marianas Trench. I also created a playlist on Spotify of songs I listen to while writing this, so if you're interested you can find it under _fic | i knew you when_

* * *

I.

_The first night in our first place  
__We ate on the floor while summer twilight ricocheted  
__And it was easier back then_

**17 A.E.**

Because his brain has never allowed him one moment of peace, Baird immediately wonders how the hell they're going to get off this island.

He feels guilty, of course; the last pulse from the imulsion countermeasure weapon has barely disappeared over the horizon, Adam Fenix is a pile of ash at his son's feet, and Baird is thinking about _fuel_. It's a hard habit to break, being practical. Baird's so used to just bulldozing over his emotions and thinking only with his head that he does it unconsciously at this point. Yes, one of his closest friends just had the absolute worst fucking day of his life and if Baird was half the man Dom is—was—fuck, shit, _goddamn it_—then he'd be scrambling to figure out what the hell he's supposed to say to stop Marcus from sticking his Boltok in his mouth and pulling the trigger. Instead, Baird's instinct is to bury the misery threatening to claw its way out of his chest and let someone else deal with it.

Granted, he did just spend the last seventeen years fighting things that were supposed to stay underground, but even if Baird is a genius that doesn't mean he's always _smart_.

Anya's there beside Marcus anyway, before Baird can nut up and do anything.

It's for the best.

It'll hit him later, Baird knows. Right now, there's still adrenaline thrumming under his skin that's keeping him in the moment, forcing his mind to plan ahead so he doesn't go crazy with the energy that is no longer being spent trying not to get killed by the Locust Queen and the Tempest. Eventually the fight-or-flight response will fade and Baird really will have to grapple with the implications of the past few hours, as much as he might try to stuff it all in a box for later (or never).

Dom's dead, and that hurts.

Dom's dead and they saved the world, and that hurts _more_.

They saved the world — Baird doesn't know how to feel about that.

The world's been saved a few times before: when the Hammer of Dawn ended the Pendulum Wars; when the Lightmass Bomb was deployed in the Hollow; when they sank Jacinto. Baird figures it's understandable if he's a little hesitant to throw his metaphorical hat up in victory.

Other people evidently aren't suffering from that particular hang-up, though.

At first, Baird thinks it's the wind — or maybe ringing in his ears from the heavy shelling he's been subjected to over the last hour. But, as he focuses more on the sound itself and tunes out everything else, he pinpoints it for what it is: cheering.

The blue pulses, the grubs and glowies collapsing and melting — it wouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happened. Baird supposes that the regular schmucks are allowed to feel relieved even if he isn't. Let someone get all psyched about what was accomplished, because the ones who actually _did_ it and should be jumping for joy like lunatics are still standing around dumbly as if the spell might break if they move too much.

And fuck if the sound of distant celebrating doesn't make it any easier to look at Marcus's face.

* * *

It doesn't take nearly as long as Baird would like for the shock to wear off.

The four of them stagger their way back down from the roof of the hotel and are met with smiles and congratulations from fellow Gears the whole way. Baird, Cole and Anya pause each time to reassure their comrades that, yes, it is actually over — well, Cole and Anya do; Baird mostly hangs back awkwardly — but Marcus ploughs on ahead, the expression on his face enough to ensure no one tries to stop him. As Baird watches his sergeant disappear through the crowd gathered in the hotel lobby, he can't help but feel like there's something off. He stares as Marcus's back gets lost in a sea of Gears, wondering why it looks _wrong_, and then the realization hits him, accompanied by a sudden tightness under his ribcage.

There's an empty space next to Marcus. Baird hadn't noticed it while Anya was sticking close to him, but now that he's broken off on his own, it's glaringly obvious.

Baird's so used to seeing Dom beside Marcus.

They were standing together when Baird, Cole and Carmine climbed into the back of a truck and headed to Halvo Bay to look for reinforcements. Baird had never once considered as they were leaving Anvil Gate that that would be the last time he saw Dom. The guy was supposed to be invincible. Dom made it through seventeen years of hell, survived the Pendulum Wars before that, managed to keep going after he blew his wife's brains out, and then he died mere _hours_ before it was over? That just isn't fucking fair.

It was easy to ignore reality when Baird was busy fighting for his life. Easy to pretend that what Marcus said to them wasn't true, was just some weird hallucination, and that after they defeated the Queen and activated Adam Fenix's weapon, Dom would just step out from behind some debris and make a joke about missing the party. But that hadn't happened. Dom's gone, really gone, and that cuts deeper than losing Rojas had three years ago.

Somebody pats Baird on the shoulder and he jolts out of his stupor. He looks at another Gear, identity masked behind a helmet, and nods quickly. When did he wander outside? Baird can't remember leaving the hotel, but he's out in the pavilion now, feeling the warm ocean breeze on his skin. It's not comforting. If anything, it makes him want to scream.

He spots familiar faces clustered by a railing overlooking the beach. Sam, Jace, Carmine and Dizzy are having a conversation, probably catching each other up on the day's events from their perspective, and Cole's breaking away from the crowd to head in that direction. Baird doesn't particularly want to lose it in front of hundreds of strangers, so he makes his way over towards the group as well and tries to get a hold of himself.

Baird realizes suddenly that he and Cole were the last to know about Dom. Dizzy and Jace were both on the mission to Mercy with Sam, they must have been there when… when whatever happened, happened. Shit, Baird doesn't even know the details yet. Does he want to know? It doesn't really make a damn bit of difference how it happened. The outcome doesn't change; Dom's still dead. But Baird supposes he'll find out eventually, whether he wants to or not. Probably better to hear it from the people who were actually there instead of whatever the journalists end up reporting.

Scratch that, Baird and Cole aren't the last to know — someone will have to tell Hoffman and Bernie. Oh god, does Baird _not_ want to be there for that conversation. Bernie trained Dom in Basic, and Hoffman was his commanding officer during Aspho Fields… Dom was practically a surrogate son to them. And they don't _know_ yet. Fuck.

Sam spots him first, and turns away from Jace and Dizzy to smile at him. It's a different smile than Baird's ever seen from her before — not her triumphant grin after she's just delivered a particularly biting insult (usually directed at Baird), nor her almost feral sneer when she's trying to warn someone to back off before she kicks them in the balls (again, usually Baird). This smile is weak and sad, almost conflicted — and yeah, Baird gets it. How can he be happy right now? Isn't this feeling some sort of betrayal to all the people they've lost?

They stop a few feet apart, just staring at each other. Sam cocks her head to the side and looks him up and down. Almost like she's making sure he's in one piece. Baird gives her a once-over as well, satisfied to find she looks unscathed herself. He doesn't know what he's supposed to say. _Are you okay?_ Obviously not. Baird's not okay; he can't imagine what Sam must be feeling.

Then Dizzy and Jace are there, both sporting the same fragile grins. Baird knows that their position isn't unique; there will be plenty of people who lost loved ones today. But somehow this pain feels more intimate in this group. All of them were in Delta with Dom at some point. It's a grief that doesn't need words to be understood. Thank god, because Baird would inevitably put his foot in his mouth at some point.

Cole sidles up behind Baird and claps him on the back. Then he nods towards the beach. Baird follows his gaze, and is not even a little bit surprised to see Marcus and Anya out there alone. Marcus looks like he's found a piece of driftwood to sit on, with Anya crouching at his side on the sand. Once again, Baird is filled with an unpleasant mix of relief and guilt — Marcus and Anya are classic symbolism out of a sappy novel, representing hope for the future, but how can Baird even justify thinking so optimistically with the weight of all this death hanging over him?

_Jeez, lighten up for a second and enjoy the sunset. _

It feels a little like spying, but the rest of Baird's squad is wandering over to the stone railing, so what the fuck else is he going to do? He doesn't know how — he certainly didn't do it on purpose — but he ends up standing beside Sam. He half-expects Sam to realize who she's beside and move further back to stand with Carmine. She doesn't.

"I took care of myself," Sam says, so quietly that it takes a minute for Baird to piece together that she meant for him to hear.

His head jerks in her direction. Shit, he did say that, didn't he? _Take care of yourself, okay?_ Dammit. Can he blame his momentary lapse in judgement on the fact that he'd just found out Dom was dead and couldn't even remember the last thing he'd said to the man? Probably something tone-deaf or callous, if Baird knows himself at all.

"Yeah," Baird says weakly. "Me too."

"I'm glad."

Baird feels his face heat up and hopes that the glow of the sunset will conceal his ridiculous reaction. Sam just means that she's glad she didn't lose another squad member today.

Probably.

* * *

That night, Baird sleeps in one of the hotel rooms.

It's eerily quiet. Ever since his career as an officer was abruptly cut short after the whole hijacking-a-Lightmass-missile debacle, Baird's slept in the barracks like the rest of the enlisted Gears. He's used to having paper-thin walls if he's lucky, and sleeping in the same room with twenty other men if he's not. The point being, he adapted pretty quick to falling asleep despite whatever noises were coming at him: snoring; whispered conversations; drunken laughter or shouting; crying, worst of all.

This is the first time in nearly two decades without a cacophony of ambient noise.

Baird flips onto his opposite side, trying to get comfortable.

He's never had trouble sleeping before. Not after being trapped with a Berserker in the Tomb of the Unknowns, not after getting captured by the grubs in the Hollow, not after nearly blowing up Vectes with the Hammer and a Lambent Leviathan. This should be the best goddamn night of sleep he's ever had in his life. A mattress that isn't as hard and lumpy as the ground, more pillows than he knows what do with, walls that keep the noise _out_. Come on, this is heaven.

He rolls over again and does _not_ think about what happened to whoever slept in this bed last night.

* * *

With the Maelstrom Barrier deactivated, it's easy enough to establish communications with Anvil Gate. And because Baird never gets what he wants, he's summoned with the rest of Delta to call Hoffman and gets to be there for the entire conversation where Marcus has to break the news about Dom.

After confirming that they managed to activate the imulsion countermeasure weapon (and boy do they need to come up with another name for that, because that is a _mouthful_), Marcus pauses and his jaw tightens, and Baird braces himself for what comes out of the sergeant's mouth next: "Dom didn't make it."

If not for the crackling static, Baird might have assumed that the connection broke. That's how long the silence is on the other end.

"_Goddamn it,"_ Hoffman says finally.

"_Marcus, are you all right?"_ Bernie cuts in.

The concern in her voice makes Baird's throat tighten up.

"Dom's a hero," Marcus says, blatantly deflecting. "We wouldn't have made it out of Mercy without him."

Baird's heard the story by now: how Dom jumped in a tanker and blew himself up to take out a horde of Lambent that were seconds away from killing Delta-One. Baird's also heard enough old war stories from Bernie to know that this isn't the first time a Santiago has sacrificed themselves for Marcus.

The conversation shifts from there. The fact that the majority of the COG and what's left of the Gorasni are currently stranded on an island in the middle of the Serano Ocean understandably takes up the majority of the time. Given the fact that the planet's fuel source was just nullified, the answer isn't as simple as hopping back on the ships and sailing back to Tyrus. There's an old oil refinery not too far away from Anvil Gate, but it's a slight issue that most of the ships and Ravens are, again, in the middle of the ocean and can't be used to transport said fuel.

Also of note is the fact that Azura _definitely_ wasn't meant to sustain this many people for an extended period of time, so they're going to start running out of food. Ideally that doesn't happen before they figure out how to get everyone the fuck off this island.

When the call ends, Marcus and Anya disappear to wherever Marcus and Anya go these days, leaving Baird, Cole, Sam, Jace, Carmine and Dizzy behind. They all look at each other before Sam says, "Drink?"

"Fuck yes," Jace agrees, and immediately turns to head in the direction of the bar.

If there's one thing Azura has a surplus of, it's alcohol.

For the time being, anyway.

The Allfathers Taproom – which is the most pretentious name for a bar that Baird's ever heard, and he grew up in the rich district of Ephyra – is packed as usual, but they do manage to find a table. It helps that, being part of Delta, the other Gears are pretty accommodating. Still, the reality of being stuck on an island is starting to override the elation from finally putting the grubs in the ground for good, so the six of them have to cram around a high table that's meant for three people tops.

Cole strikes up a conversation with Dizzy about his daughters, Jace and Carmine start swapping bacon recipes, which left Baird stuck with only Sam.

Baird takes a few long gulps from his beer, hoping it's not too obvious that he just downed almost a third of it. When he glances at Sam, he sees that she's smirking at him, so… oh well.

"So," Sam says, taking a much more reasonable sip of her beer.

"So," Baird echoes. He doesn't know what she's getting at and would like to avoid pissing her off for as long as possible. There are a lot of witnesses in here.

"How are you holding up?"

He nearly chokes on his drink. "How am _I_ holding up?" he splutters.

To her credit, Sam isn't fazed by his incredulity. "Yeah. You knew Dom longer than I did."

_Maybe, but I wasn't in love with him._

Baird must be learning, because he stops that thought from travelling from his brain to his mouth. Amazing. Instead, he surprises himself by saying, "I don't know that it's really sunk in yet."

Sam nods. "I know what you mean. Every time I see Marcus around, I half-expect to see Dom running up behind him."

"Hard habit to break," Baird mumbles, mostly to himself.

"I know it'll hurt less eventually," Sam says. "I've lost people before."

"Do you ever feel guilty for moving on?"

He worries she might be offended, but he genuinely wants to know. The last friend that Baird had who died was Rojas, and he's more than aware that he never dealt with that loss – not truly. He packed it up and pushed it aside and pretended he was over it, when in reality he never gave himself the time to process Rojas's death. He wonders if Dom's death hurts so much more because it's dragging up the feelings he never dealt with three years ago.

Sam takes a moment before she answers. "I don't think you can ever really move on. Not if you truly loved someone. You just learn to live with the pain."

* * *

_They really thought we were all going to die, didn't they?_

The knowledge has been slowly dawning on Baird with each lab he and Cole search in Pinnacle Tower. Obviously, the higher ups knew long before the rest of the world that imulsion had the potential to mutate DNA. (Baird supposes he should be grateful that they were trying to work on a cure at all, but it's hard to feel _gratitude_ when he's wandering around a frigging five-star hotel where society's "elite" got to have a goddamn vacation while he was busting his ass across Sera.) Prescott had a contingency plan, and it only included those that the Chairman deemed important enough for humanity's survival. It hadn't included any of them.

"Come on, there's nothing useful in here," Baird says. There are six research papers on the effects of the Hammer strikes on soil's fertility and just looking at them makes Baird feel like vomiting.

"Try the next one?" Cole asks, unperturbed.

_God, how can he just keep going all the time? _

Cole's enthusiasm and stamina are just a few of the things that Baird envies about his friend. He's well aware that The Cole Train is a front to boost morale, but that persona is also a window into Cole's heart and personality. Baird has never had the time or energy to pretend to be anything other than a selfish asshole.

"Sure," Baird says.

As they wander in to the next office, Baird can't help but whistle. Whoever this belong to was clearly a bigwig. There's a large oak desk at the far end of the room, positioned perfectly so that whoever sits there can turn their head just so and gaze out the window at the stunning view of the island. Bookshelves line the walls, absolutely stuffed with thick, leather-bound hardcovers; from a quick glance, Baird guesses the tomes are mostly military history.

"Oh shit," Cole says.

Baird looks away from the bookshelf. "What?"

Instead of answering, Cole points to something sitting on the desk: a brass nameplate. Baird walks over to examine it. His stomach drops when he's close enough to read the name.

"Bardry Salaman?"

"He killed himself," Cole says, like he can't quite believe what his own eyes are seeing. "He couldn't handle the guilt of the Hammer strikes. We _mourned_ him."

Cole sounds lost; it makes Baird want to punch something. Evidently General Salaman had handled the guilt just fine.

"Someone's gotta tell Marcus," Baird sighs, only just barely resisting the urge to pick up the nameplate and hurl it at the wall.

"And Hoffman," Cole adds.

Baird winces; Hoffman isn't going to take this well either. Salaman's "suicide" left Hoffman as the highest-ranking military officer. The head of the army — the one who actually had to live with the consequences of the calls he made, while Salaman apparently got to sit pretty and strategize from a distance.

"Fucking Prescott," Baird mutters.

Cole looks at him; the lack of smile on his face is startling. "Yeah."

* * *

A few days later, words comes that one of the search parties found a small supply of gasoline. It's nowhere near enough to fuel all the naval vessels and get everyone off Azura, but it's enough at least to send a smaller ship back to the mainland.

Baird is completely unsurprised when Marcus picks him, Cole, Anya, Sam, Dizzy and Jace to head back to Kashkur.

He's a little more surprised that Marcus and Anya have given up any attempts at pretense now and share a cabin on the trip over. _CNV Vale of Dane_ isn't as fast as the submarine that brought them to Azura in the first place, so the sailing tour goes through the night. Better to arrive in Tyrus at first light and hopefully make it to Kashkur while the sun's still up. The monsters may be gone, but there's still plenty of danger out there if you're dumb enough to travel after dark.

Cole, predictably, isn't loving the choppy water. Even if _Vale of Dane_ is a destroyer and Baird can't feel the waves, Cole's sensitive stomach isn't handling the travel well. He elects to turn in early and hopefully sleep through the seasickness.

Marcus and Anya are nowhere to be seen, Frank Muller is busy at the helm, and last Baird checked, Sam, Jace and Dizzy were chatting it up in the mess. That leaves Baird to wander the upper deck by himself. Suits him just fine. He's restless; doesn't want to go to bed early because he knows he won't sleep. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since they landed on Azura.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

Baird nearly jumps out of his skin at the voice so close behind him. He turns around and glares, more to try and deflect any embarrassment than anything else, because if he's honest with himself, he's not really all that upset to see who's snuck up on him.

Sam laughs in his face, evidently pleased that she managed to spook him. "Expecting something grey and scaly with a Hammerburst?" she jokes.

"That would have been preferable," Baird snarks.

Sam rolls her eyes, but otherwise doesn't seem to take offence. (Baird is oddly… glad? Fuck.) She says, "But seriously, why are you up here by yourself?"

"You know Cole. Never did get his sea legs, despite what Michaelson insisted."

(For a brief, glorious second, Baird's chest doesn't tighten at the use of Michaelson's name. He forgets, just for a moment, that Michaelson is dead. But no – Michaelson didn't make it off_ Sovereign_.)

"I know that," Sam says. "I meant, why are you up _here_ by yourself? Could've joined us in the cafeteria."

It takes Baird a second to understand what she's getting at. Sam wasn't wondering why he and Cole aren't together; she's wondering why he didn't come to _hang out with her_?

_Not just her,_ he reminds himself firmly. _"Could've joined _us_ in the cafeteria."_

"Haven't you heard?" Baird asks. "I'm an antisocial dick."

Sam rolls her eyes so forcefully this time that her head moves with the motion. "Three years ago, maybe. I've been in your squad now, Baird; I can see through your bullshit."

That prospect is alarming for reasons Baird doesn't particularly care to examine. In any case, he isn't in the mood to argue the finer facets of his personality with Sam. He decides the best course of action is to take the path of least resistance, and heaves a dramatically put-upon sigh as he sweeps his hand in the direction of the dining area.

"Lead the way."

Sam's triumphant grin definitely _does not_ make Baird's stomach flip-flop.

It's just the ocean.

* * *

A contingent of Packhorses are waiting for them when they arrive at the Halvo Bay port.

As they disembark _Vale of Dane_, Baird examines the waiting Gears, looking for familiar faces. He deflates slightly when he doesn't see Bernie, but decides he can rib her about being too old to travel when they reach the garrison.

Marcus steps on to the dock first, followed closely by Anya. A Gear wearing officer's insignia walks up to them.

"Captain Jeremias Dyer," the Gear introduces himself. "Colonel Hoffman is waiting for you back at Anvil Gate."

Baird's slightly surprised that Hoffman hasn't come to meet them in person, but he supposes it might not be entirely the colonel's decision. Sure, the war is (probably) over and the grubs and glowies are (most likely) dead and gone – thing is, that leaves Hoffman as the closest thing to a Chairman that the COG has. Technically the COG is still dissolved, but Baird gets the feeling that the civvies are going to be talking _government_ and _politicians_ sooner rather than later. Reunification is a matter of _when_, not _if_.

Oh, Hoffman's gotta love that.

It's a couple hours in the back of a Packhorse to cross the border from Tyrus to Kashkur. Somehow Baird ends up sandwiched between Cole and Sam, with two unfamiliar Gears in the front of the vehicle. Cole's a big dude and takes up more than his fair share of the back bench, which leaves Baird with like half a seat to himself and his thigh pressed flat up against Sam's.

It's not a comfortable trip for Baird, is what he's saying.

He's got no idea how he ended up in the bitch seat. Baird figured Sam would be riding with Jace and Dizzy and hadn't thought to call dibs on a window seat before Sam was climbing into the Pack behind him and shoving him out of the way. Baird was momentarily struck dumb by annoyance at her audacity and didn't have a chance to argue before Cole, laughing, pulled him down into the middle seat and the Gear driving yelled at him to buckle up. And Baird did, because he hadn't survived seventeen years of war to die in a car accident, goddamn it.

Cole and Sam make small talk while Baird stubbornly pretends to be asleep, even if his eyes fly open in exasperation at every large bump in the road. A particularly deep pothole has him nearly sitting on Sam's lap at one point – an offence for which she'd no doubt deck him, even if it had been completely accidental. Baird hopes that whenever they start with the roads whenever they get around to rebuilding infrastructure.

The familiar walls of Anvil Gate break through the surrounding forest a few hours later. Baird is unprepared for the pang deep in his core when he sees the fort. This is the last place Delta was together, barely a week ago and yet it somehow feels like a lifetime has passed since then. He sneaks a look out of the corner of his eye at Sam, but she has that telltale blank expression of a person who's trying their very best not to show any emotion.

Baird perfected that look over the past year.

The fort itself still looks in pretty rough shape from the beating it took only a few days ago. Deploying the Hammer on the approaching horde and then fighting a Lambent Berserker feels like it happened in another life. A stupid, desperate part of Baird wishes he could transport himself back in time to that day, convince Dom not to take the detour through Mercy, but Baird knows that kind of thinking gets him nowhere. The past is set in stone, for better or worse. Most of humanity would probably say better, given that the grubs and glowies have finally been defeated. But Baird… well. Whatever.

Another morbid part of him wonders what happened to the bodies.

There was an all-out assault on the garrison barely a week ago that resulted in plenty of casualties for both sides. But, other than the craters left behind by mortars and the siege weapons, there's scant evidence of a battle of that scale. Some poor saps had to clean up the carnage.

A slight shiver runs through Baird, and he stops following that train of thought.

Hoffman and Bernie are waiting for them in the fort's courtyard, along with Padrick Salton. Marcus has barely climbed out of the Pack before Bernie is right in front of him and pulls the sergeant into a hug. Marcus seems to freeze up for a second before relaxing and accepting (or merely tolerating) her comfort. Bernie lets go and says something to him, but Baird is too far away to catch it.

Marcus steps away from Bernie and goes to speak with Hoffman; Anya falls in step quickly beside him. Then Bernie turns her motherly gaze on Baird and he feels his insides freeze up. Damn it. He should have known better than to think he could slip under her radar.

"How are you, Baird?" Bernie asks as she approaches.

Fuck, he's getting tired of that question. He doesn't want to pretend he's anywhere near as gutted about Dom as Marcus is – he doesn't have that right, not when he'd only known the guy for three years. Baird hadn't grown up with him, hadn't been an honorary uncle to Dom's kids, had never even _met_ Maria. Really, they were barely even friends; Baird's certain he's not the kind of person Dom would have chosen to associate with if not for the connective tissue of Delta Squad.

But damn does it still fucking sting.

For some stupid reason, Baird can't bring himself to lie to Bernie. But he's certainly not about to bare his soul – not with Cole and Sam in earshot – so he simply shrugs and gives her a look that he hopes conveys _I'm feeling a lot and I have no frigging idea what to do about it_. Bernie has evidently become one of the few people who have cared to learn how to interpret his silent deflections, and strides right in to his personal space. Before the protest can even begin to form on Baird's lips, Bernie grabs him and forces him into a somewhat aggressive embrace.

Horrifyingly, Baird feels a lump form in his throat that he quickly swallows. When Bernie releases him, Baird sees she has tears in her eyes. Nope, no way, doesn't matter – he is _not_ going to have this breakdown now.

"You did good, Blondie," Bernie says, offering him a warm smile.

_Not good enough_, is the automatic thought. Sure, he wasn't on the mission to Mercy and Char, he couldn't have done anything there, but if he'd been able to crack Prescott's data disc before the fucker absconded with it, then maybe…

How many people must be beating themselves up for what happened to Dom. Once again, Baird's a selfish asshole who wants to make it all about him.

Bernie moves off to mother Cole and Sam, and Baird takes the opportunity to make his escape over to Marcus, Hoffman and Pad. Hoffman gives Baird a look when he wanders into the conversation. At first Baird thinks he's intruding, but then he realizes that the colonel was giving him the same quick once-over that Sam had – checking for injuries. It brings Baird up short.

"—have to get the old oil refinery up and running again," Pad is saying. "Hasn't been touched in years, but it should have enough reserves to get everyone off Azura."

Hoffman nods. "We'll have to contact the Stranded."

Baird can't help but scoff. "And what? See if they hate our guts any less?"

"We can't just rebuild civilization without them," Pad counters, frowning.

"I'm sure most won't join us," Hoffman says, "but a few groups might. We'll need all the help we can get in the coming years."

_Years._ It's jarring to think so far ahead. Baird's used to planning for the next few days, a couple weeks in advance if he's lucky. For so long, he's never been guaranteed a tomorrow and now they're suddenly thinking years in the future. It's going to take a while to adjust to that.

"We'll head out to the old refinery tomorrow," Hoffman decides. "I'm sure we can round up some civvies who can help us out."

"I've done some reading on refining petroleum," Baird says. "All theoretical of course, but maybe—"

"All the help we can get," Hoffman repeats. "Consider yourself volunteered."

"Delta will provide security," Marcus says. His tone leaves no room for argument, even if he's not the one who's supposed to be assigning personnel.

Baird grins. "What, worried to let me out of your sight?"

He means it as a joke, but the second the words are out of his mouth, Baird cringes. Can he really poke fun at Marcus for wanting to keep a close eye on his squad?

Marcus just stares at him before blinking once and turning back to Hoffman. It could be anything from an annoyed dismissal to genuine hurt at the inadvertent reminder of Dom's death. Either way, Baird is cowed and he retreats back to the safety of Cole, Bernie and Sam.

* * *

Despite all his reading on the subject, Baird actually ends up being pretty useless when it comes to anything other than turning on the machines at the refinery.

Sam laughs at him as he's banished from operations by civvies who actually know what they're doing. Baird glares back, wondering not for the first time why Marcus had to pair the two of them up, and take Cole away to the other side of the site. It's always been an unspoken rule that Baird and Cole get paired together, while Marcus and—

Marcus could have taken Baird, is what he means. But maybe Marcus is still pissed at Baird for yesterday's stupid comment. Baird wouldn't blame him at all; he stared at the ceiling in his bunk for a few hours last night, mentally kicking himself.

"At last!" Sam says, still snickering. "At last the great Damon Baird isn't an instant expert. Ah, I never thought I'd see the day."

Baird rolls his eyes, although he's secretly thankful that Sam's interruption pulled him back to the present. (He'll have plenty of time tonight to ruminate on why Marcus probably hates his guts.) "I'm an engineer, remember?" he says. "Not a factory worker."

Sam just smiles, clearly indicating that she's not convinced his pride isn't wounded. (She's right, but he'll never admit that she can get a read on him). "Guess you'll just have to wander around with an itchy trigger finger like the rest of us uneducated types. Poor you."

He bristles a bit at _uneducated types_ and only just manages to hold his tongue. Refuting Sam by throwing his fancy boarding school education in her face is just pointless. What did it end up doing for him, anyway? He didn't need all those university prep courses about mechanical engineering in basic training.

"Itchy trigger finger?" Baird asks, trying to change the subject. "What, worried we're going to stumble across a gang of Stranded hiding in a broom closet?"

Surprisingly, Baird notices some emotion flicker over Sam's face – uncertainty? It's gone before he can pin it down. Weird. She's never had a problem telling him to shut the hell up before if it's something she doesn't want to talk about.

_And when did I start paying such close attention?_

Then Sam sighs and faces him. "I don't know, I just… it's hard to believe it's really over, you know? I feel like the second I let my guard down, we're going to find out that it didn't actually work and that the grubs survived somehow." She laughs quietly. "That probably sounds pretty stupid to the guy who was actually there."

Before Vectes, Baird would have eagerly used this admission as ammunition in a future fight. Now he feels his chest ache and realizes with a dull shock that it's empathy. He hesitates for a second, wondering if Sam is looking for him to acknowledge what she's just said or pretend he didn't hear it. He's much better at doing the latter. But in the suddenly-awkward silence, Baird finds himself thinking that he doesn't want to ignore this.

"No, I get it," he says. "I mean, we've killed the grubs twice before – the Lightmass bomb and sinking Jacinto. Even if I was right there this time, it doesn't make it any easier to shake that paranoia."

"They say the third time's the charm," Sam says.

Baird snorts, which somehow coaxes a small smile onto Sam's face. Something warm unfurls in his stomach; he likes looking at her smile.

_Do not go there, for fuck's sake. _Not_ the time._

"Twenty bucks," Baird says.

"Beg pardon?"

"Twenty bucks says they come back again." Maybe it's morbid to joke about something like this, but Baird's never really been one for decorum. Besides, joking about something as horrifying as the Locust coming back takes the power away from it – just a little. It's like when people used to poke fun at dictators and warlords; humour robbed them of their gravitas, brought them down to a normal person's level.

Sam seems to get it. Or at the very least, she gets that he's not trying to be a total dick about something (for once in his life). She smirks and says, "I'll take that action."

"Not worried you're on the wrong side of this bet?"

Sam regards him, her face suddenly very serious, and Baird feels his throat go dry. "I'll bet against your pessimism any day of the week."

* * *

**18 A.E.**

It's at their monthly Delta reunion bar takeover that Marcus and Anya announce the news.

"We're pregnant," Anya says, her smile more joyous than Baird's ever seen it.

Baird eyes the glass of water in Anya's hand and flicks his gaze to Marcus. He's never seen his former sergeant smile (the very concept in and of itself threatens to break Baird's brain), but this is the closest Marcus has ever looked to cracking a grin; the lines around his mouth aren't as harsh, and there's a light in his eyes that hasn't been there seen since Dom died.

Beside him, Cole lets out a loud whoop and immediately rushes over to give Anya a bear hug. Bernie and Hoffman light up like it's the best goddamn thing they've ever heard in their lives, while Jace, Carmine and Dizzy clink their pint glasses and shout out drunken congratulations. Sam smiles smugly near Anya and Baird has the distinct impression that she already knew.

The bar is busy but not _packed_, which is fairly normal. Even if it isn't one of the nicest places in New Ephyra, it was one of the first pubs to get up and running when the settlement was still being constructed, and Gears are nothing if not loyal.

Baird's glad that, nearly a year after the war ended, they're still doing this get-together thing. Hoffman and Bernie elected to stay in Anvegad (Baird suspects Hoffman's trying to stay as far away from politics as possible), Jace and Dizzy are gone more often than not as they help with construction on other settlements, and Marcus and Anya rarely venture off the secluded Stroud Estate (not can Baird can blame them for wanting privacy). As fucked up as it sounds, it's so easy to drift apart when there's not a war forcing everyone together.

Not wanting to dwell on that depressing reality any longer, Baird heads to the bar for a refill.

After he's a few beers deep, Cole turns to Baird and flashes him an intoxicated grin. "We're gonna be uncles!" he says – enthusiastic, if a little slurred.

For some reason, having Cole spell it out like that brings Baird up short. Him – an uncle? It's not something he's ever thought about, being an only child. And he's certainly never wanted to assume the closeness of a relationship with someone (it would be an awkward thing to be wrong about). But, if he really thinks about it and pushes his emotional hang-ups aside, Baird supposes that Cole and Marcus really are brothers in everything but blood.

Well then.

Baird is going to spoil the hell out of this kid.

He's been tinkering over the last few months, after finally settling down in a townhouse in New Ephyra. Barrack living quickly lost its appeal (not that there was ever much to begin with) after it became evident that the Locust weren't secretly hiding around a corner, waiting to jump out and say _gotcha!_ when the humans least expected it. After Marcus and Anya eloped in a small civil ceremony and moved to Anya's family home – far enough away from any settlement that the journos finally gave up hounding the famous couple – the rest of Delta slowly drifted out of the barracks.

Not that all of them drifted far apart: Baird and Cole are practically neighbours, and Sam's flat is only a short drive away.

Anyway, the point being – he has a garage now, where his ideas can finally explode out of his brain and leave a mess of half-finished creations scattered around. He hasn't had a space to himself since he was a kid and used to sneak out to his parents' long-forgotten garage, building and messing around with machines after he'd breezed through his schoolwork. He assumes he only got away with it so long because his parents both used chauffeurs for trips as simple as going to the store and hadn't set foot (or even stored a car) in the small building on the outskirts of the family property in years.

It might take a few years, but Marcus and Anya's kid will eventually be able to play with toys in a more sophisticated way than shoving them in its mouth. And when that day comes, Baird is going to build the most amazing toys that a kid could ever ask for.

"Uncle Cole, huh?" Sam seems to have heard Cole's pronouncement and inserts herself into their conversation. "I assume that kid'll have the best thrashball coach of all time."

If possible, Cole's grin gets even wider. "Oh hell yeah! That kid is gonna cream the floor with their classmates."

Baird snorts, though he's secretly pleased for Cole. There's some semblance of a thrashball league up and running again, but Cole's days as an athlete are behind him. Hardly any of the best athletes continued to play after their mid-thirties – and that was without taking nearly two decades off to fight in a war. Baird never figured Cole for an army lifer and so he's glad his friend will have an outlet for his passion. It might be a few years out, but hey, at least it's something to look forward to.

As Cole and Sam start planning all the wisdom they're going to impart to their niece or nephew, Baird notices that Anya's been snatched away by Dizzy, leaving Marcus at the bar by himself. Maybe it's the pleasant buzz from the alcohol, or the warm fuzzies floating around in Baird's stomach – whatever the case, Baird extricates himself from Sam and Cole's semi-drunken ramblings and tries to slide along the bar to Marcus. There's a bit of a crowd in front of him and so Baird has to squeeze up against Sam and push through. He shoots her an apologetic look as he brushes along her side, but the smile she gives him indicates that she doesn't mind the contact.

Marcus notices Baird's approach and twists his body to open up a spot next to him. Baird slides in and sets his beer down on the countertop.

"Hey man," Baird says, "congratulations. That's frigging great news."

Marcus doesn't smile exactly, but he sort of smirks. Baird takes it as a victory.

"I know it's sort of taboo to ask, but got any names picked out?" Marcus seems to hesitate for a second; Baird rolls his eyes and continues, "Come on. I'm the one person you _know_ isn't going to steal your unused baby names."

Marcus nods slowly. "Helene if it's a girl."

"And if it's a boy?"

"JD for short."

Marcus doesn't volunteer any more information than that, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what the D stands for.

* * *

The door to the restaurant opens and Baird glances up from his lunch. _Finally_, he thinks, and feels his body relax slightly. Logically he knows that no one else in this place gives a shit about a guy having a meal by himself in a booth, but Baird's never particularly enjoyed eating alone. Even back when all his meals came from the mess hall, he'd always look for Cole, or make a show of pulling out work and making himself seem as busy as possible.

It's a relief to see Cole and Sam walk into the dim light of the restaurant. Sam spots him first and waves; Baird nods in acknowledgement and leans back in his seat.

"What, you couldn't wait for us?" Cole says as he slides into the booth beside Baird.

"Sue me, I was hungry," Baird replies, picking up his burger to take another bite. "And how was I supposed to know how long your meeting was gonna take?"

Sam sits in the booth opposite Baird and wastes no time in stealing one of his fries. Baird scowls at her, trying to warn her off, but she just grins back.

Cole snorts. "Did you really think it would last long after Dyer finally popped the question?"

The waitress arrives to take Cole and Sam's orders. Baird idly wonders what she must think of the three of them: two soldiers still dressed in their fatigues, and Baird in a cotton button down shirt and jeans that are probably hiding grease stains somewhere. It's only been a few months since Baird retired from the service and he definitely doesn't _miss _it or anything, but it is a little weird to no longer be officially a part of the COG army. (He's not the only one who left, of course: Marcus and Anya discharged as soon as they were able). Baird's new civilian status is the reason they're having this lunch, so he can catch up on the gossip.

"So?" he prods. "How big of a disaster was it?"

Cole and Sam share a look, and Sam shudders. "Pretty big," she says. "I thought the old man was going to pop a blood vessel."

"I can't believe Dyer honestly thought Hoffman would agree to that," Baird says. "First Minister? Come on."

Cole shrugs. "Makes sense from the outside. Hoffman _was_ the man in charge for a while after Prescott left."

"_Left?_" Baird repeats. "That's a generous way of looking at it."

"_Fucked off_ is more like it," Sam mutters, and then snatches another couple of Baird's fries.

"Stop it," he says, swatting at her hand, but he knows it's a wasted effort. Now that he's let on that it annoys him, she'll keep it up even after her own food arrives.

Beside him, Cole gives him a smirk with a raised eyebrow, which Baird elects to ignore. Sam's always liked to push his buttons; this is nothing new for her.

"So, what's the plan now if Hoffman doesn't want to be First Minister?" Baird asks as he slides his plate closer to his side of the table.

"Who cares?" Sam retorts, leaning back against the black leather of the booth.

Baird rolls his eyes. "Call me crazy, but I'd like to have _some_ idea of who's gonna be running the government. Y'know, since the last guy did such a _stellar_ job."

"Bit of a low bar to clear," Cole chuckles.

Encrypted data disks, flouncing off to a secret island, playing things close to the chest until it was _almost_ too late – what a guy that Prescott was. Really, whoever the next leader of the COG ends up being will look great in comparison.

Sam's hand darts across the table again. Baird heaves a sigh but doesn't protest.

* * *

The anniversary of Dom's death arrives faster than Baird expected.

It creeps up on him softly, in the back of his mind for weeks, and then suddenly it's here. He doesn't know what to do with himself on the actual day. It falls midweek; everyone is busy and so they decide to put off any sort of gathering for a few days. And so Baird finds himself spending the day like most others, trying to translate his thoughts and ideas into something tangible.

It's rather anticlimactic, for all the buildup.

Baird doesn't know what he was expecting. Some sort of sudden shift in feeling? Like now that an arbitrary amount of time has passed, the dull background ache will magically stop? Life doesn't work like that. It's like Sam said, in the early days after the war – it never really goes away. Baird wonders if he'll ever forget about Dom.

He probably will. He's a bastard like that.

* * *

It happens one afternoon when he's tinkering in his garage.

He's lost track of time, which isn't unusual for him when he's feeling particularly inspired. Sometimes he only realizes how long he's been at something when his stomach starts to clench with hunger. Point being, he hasn't been inside his house for a few hours, so he's rather surprised when Cole all but kicks in his garage door and bursts inside.

"Uh, hi?" Baird says, pulling off his goggles and standing up straight.

"I've been trying to call you for forty-five minutes!" Cole exclaims, slightly out of breath. "Come on, we gotta go!"

"Go where?"

"The hospital! The baby's coming!"

Cole, who normally follows traffic rules to an infuriating degree, drives like a maniac from Baird's townhouse to New Ephyra General Hospital. They nearly get into three accidents and Baird feels like he might need treatment for a heart attack when he finally steps onto the sidewalk.

Once they're inside the building, Baird heads for reception to ask where to go. A familiar voice stops him before he can get to the desk.

"Hey!"

Baird turns to see Sam waving at him. Of course she'd already be here. He stops in his tracks and lets Cole and Sam converge on him from both sides.

"We can't go back, obviously," Sam says, "but there's a waiting room in the delivery ward."

After the mad dash to get here, sitting around in a waiting room full of other anxious families starts to sour Baird's mood. He's bored and hungry and the coffee in the cafeteria is so shit that he'd rather drink the sludge from his army days. And of course there's no telling exactly how long they're going to be waiting, and Baird has never been particularly gifted with patience. His leg starts bouncing up and down after about an hour and he's about ready to start making comments he's sure to regret when Sam puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go for a walk," she says firmly.

"I don't need—" he starts, but Sam grabs his hand and pulls him to his feet.

"You really do."

And then, still holding his hand in a vice-like grip, she starts dragging him out of the waiting room. Baird looks over his shoulder to throw a pleading, outraged look at Cole, but his friend just smirks to himself and gives a little wave.

_Traitor._

Baird manages to free his hand before they get too far from the waiting room. "I'm _not_ a child!" he says, planting his feet.

Sam turns around and folds her arms across her chest. "Really? Could have fooled me."

The annoyance bubbling up in his chest is disproportionate for this situation, but Baird can't help himself. "You don't get to just decide what I need. You're not my girlfriend and you're certainly not my mother."

Sam's face flushes at that. "Hey, just because you're worried, don't take it out on me."

"I'm not worried," Baird scoffs, even as something resonates deep within his chest. "What is there to be worried about?"

The anger in Sam's eyes fades a bit. He's seen this look from her dozens of times, when she's still pissed at him but she's figured out some hidden insight behind his dickishness.

"Whenever things go right for us," Sam says slowly, "something bad always seems to come along. Like it's the price we have to pay for the good things. I'm worried about Anya. It's okay for you to be too."

God, he _hates_ how she can see right through him. Sometimes he finds it endearing but right now it's making him feel cornered.

"Don't psychoanalyze me," Baird snaps. "It's not a good look for you."

He storms past her, away from the waiting room, no particular destination in mind. Sam's either smart enough not to stop him or she just doesn't care. Either way, she lets him go without a word. He doesn't look back to see what she does.

He kills time in the cafeteria for a few hours, nursing a cup of tea since even the _smell_ of the coffee here makes him want to vomit. Once he's cooled off and had time to think, he realizes Sam was right. He _is_ worried – scared, even. Things have been going to good: the grubs haven't come back, no third war broke out, none of his friends died of latent lambency. Nothing's gone wrong yet, so maybe this – Marcus and Anya's child – is what all that bad luck has been waiting for. Anya will die in childbirth. The baby won't make it. Marcus will lose somebody else.

_Fuck._

Logically he knows that there's no factual basis for this anxiety. There are no cosmic scales that need to be balanced. The world is random, chaotic, equally kind and cruel. Good fortune one day doesn't automatically schedule a future catastrophe.

His tea is cold and mostly untouched when Cole finds him a few hours later. He's been sketching pieces of designs on napkins to keep himself from crawling back and apologizing. Cole comes up and nudges him.

"They're ready for us," Cole says.

Baird folds up his napkin and tucks it in his pocket. "Everything's okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, they're both fine."

Walking into the recovery room, Baird feels like he's finally able to relax when he sees Anya cradling a tiny bundle to her chest. Marcus is standing beside the hospital bed, flanked by Sam and Jace and Dizzy, who evidently arrived while Baird was sulking in the cafeteria. Baird hovers awkwardly in the doorway, attempting to peer at the infant in Anya's arms without behind obvious about it.

Marcus notices Baird and fixes him with a look at says, _what the fuck are you doing out there?_

That, more so than any of the other eyes who have noticed him, makes Baird's face go red. He makes an effort to look exasperated and slumps fully into the room. Marcus leaves his post by Anya's bedside and comes to stand beside Baird. He's not smiling, exactly, but it's a damn near thing if Baird's any judge.

(Baird also thinks that Marcus looks a little relieved, like his ex-sergeant was maybe expecting some sort of disaster and can't believe he's lucked out.)

"Helene?" Baird asks when Marcus is within earshot.

"JD," Marcus answers. "Do you want to see him?"

"Uh—"

Before Baird can decide if it would be completely offensive to try and avoid any attempts at bonding, Marcus has taken his son from Anya and the _look_ on Marcus's face leaves Baird speechless. Marcus steps in beside Baird again, twisting so Baird can see around the blanket burrito in his arms.

Newborns look weird, Baird decides. There's too much forehead for the baby's face, he's wrinkled like an old man, and just generally looks like a squished alien.

And Baird will _murder_ anything that comes near this kid.

* * *

Just over a year after the end of the Lambent Pandemic, the new COG finally gets its shit together and formally decides what to do with the old abandoned cities.

First Minister Dyer – chosen by his fellow Ministers after Hoffman (repeatedly) turned down the job – makes the announcement on television. Instead of rebuilding the destroyed cities like Ephyra, Speyer and Tollen, Dyer declares that the COG is officially going all-in on constructing new walled-off settlements. The old cities will be left as they are, grisly monuments to the war that nearly wiped out humanity.

Baird's not shocked. When the COG didn't immediately begin to try and rebuild the old cities, he figured they wanted to start from scratch. It makes sense, really; the cities got the shit kicked out of them in the seventeen years of war that resulted in the fall of impenetrable strongholds like Ephyra. Jacinto's currently under a couple miles of water, and the riftworm completely fucked up Tollen and Montevado, so it's not like those would have been a piece of cake to clear out and rebuild.

Hoffman and Dyer make good on their promise and offer clemency to any Stranded who want to rejoin the COG. A good chunk do; some are still stubborn assholes who wouldn't know a good deal if it danced in front of them naked.

There's a big ceremony and everything, welcoming back the COG's "lost citizens". Like they wandered off in the night and forgot the route back to the house, not made a deliberate choice to say _fuck you_ and take their chances. Baird doesn't begrudge the Stranded for leaving – not exactly. Who knows how he would have felt if he hadn't grown up in a place that was spared from the Hammer strikes. He just hates the bullshit PR spin that goes into everything nowadays.

Of course, there was oodles of bullshit when he was in the army. Back then they justified it as morale-boosting propaganda. Baird had seen through it then and he sees through it now.

Doesn't stop him from watching the ceremony on the TV, though.

Baird finds himself wondering sometimes if he'll run into Paduk one day, now that some of the Stranded are back in society.

It happens occasionally, when he sees the back of someone's head who's going grey, or a scar running up the side of someone's face. There's a brief painful flare of _something_ in his chest – anticipation? anxiety? – and then he realizes that, no, it's no one he knows. Just another stranger with a scar. The war made plenty of those.

He never hears anything about Paduk again.

He wonders sometimes if that's for the best.

* * *

**19 A.E.**

An unknown number comes up on the call display. Baird frowns and hesitates for a second, wondering if he should just let it go to voicemail. But, if it is a crank call, he'd rather tear whoever's on the other end a new one instead of dodging their calls for the next few weeks until they get bored.

"Hello?" he says when he picks up, letting his voice drip with skepticism.

There's a slight pause on the other end before someone answers, "Corporal. It's been a while."

Baird recognizes the voice in an instant; he used to hear it in his ears practically every day for three years. "Mathieson?"

"Got it in one," Mathieson says, and Baird can hear the smile in his voice. "I got your number from Cole. Not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no. My life isn't exactly hectic these days."

"Yeah, I heard you discharged a while back. Can't say I was surprised."

Baird snorts. "Was I that obvious?"

"Let's just say as a controller, I got to learn how to read most Gears. And you weren't that hard to read."

_Yeah, sounds about right_. "How are those prosthetics holding up?"

"Good. Still hurts like a bitch, but it's better than being stuck behind a desk all day."

Guilt rises up in the back of Baird's throat. It's been three years and he never thought once to dig out his old designs for Mathieson's prosthetic legs. He has a workshop now, access to better tools and equipment; even if that won't make walking pain-free, he could at least try to alleviate some of it. What the fuck else is he doing with his spare time right now?

"If you want," Baird hedges, "I could have a go at an update. Y'know, now that we're not stuck on an island in the middle of nowhere."

"You know I'm never going to turn down a chance to walk again," Mathieson says. "But listen, the reason that I'm calling is, uh… I don't know if you heard, but…" The lieutenant sighs. "Yanik died last week. I'm sorry."

It takes a moment for him to process the word and then it hits him square in the chest like a thunderclap. Yanik, with his gruff sailor charm and unflappable attitude and _Blondie-Baird_, was the first friend Baird had made in a long goddamn time. And not because he was stuck in the same squad as Baird, like Marcus and Dom and Paduk and even Cole, but because for whatever crazy reason, Yanik actually seemed to _like_ him. Baird always knew Yanik was out there somewhere, had heard the Gorasni had finally settled somewhere on the mainland since Gorasnya had been destroyed by Karn's army in the early months of the war, and Baird had always figured that one day they'd meet up again.

"Oh," Baird finally says, and hates how small his voice sounds. "How?"

"Report came across my desk a few days ago," Mathieson says. "Looks like it was some sort of freak storm that destroyed a few Gorasni settlements."

"_Only_ Gorasni settlements?"

"Yeah."

No wonder Baird hasn't seen anything about it on the news. Same old _fucking_ story.

"Thanks for letting me know," Baird says, and then winces. _Thanks?_

"I figured you'd be one of the few people who'd actually care. Speaking of, do you happen to know Sam Byrne's number? I know she and Yanik weren't exactly _friends_, but I thought I'd let her know."

_His duchashka. Shit._ "I see her a lot," Baird says. "I can tell her. Hey, listen, if you're ever in New Ephyra, don't be a stranger."

It's a hollow offer. Mathieson politely promises to do so all the same.

Sam comes over later and they get shitfaced on bottles of wine. Not for the first time Baird thinks about kissing her, but then his mind is filled with images of Yanik and Dom and he suddenly feels sick. Instead they reminisce about the _Amirale Enka_, about Vectes, about their brief reunion when the Gorasni came to save their ass during the battle on Azura.

"_They call you Blondie because you are blond, yes? Well, I am Yanik, Blondie, and they call me that because I will _yanik_ your intestines if you mess with my ship."_

"_Our humble ship is yours, _duchashka_. I shall keep my unworthy eyes to myself."_

"_Ha! This would be _sport_ in Gorasnya!" _

"_You look at me like I am a _grub_. Like I kill for no reason. One day, Blondie-Baird, I will tell you what the _garayaz_ did to us at Chalitz, and you will see things another way. We are the last Gorasni. The _last_."_

That night, Baird dreams of the Emerald Spar being swallowed at sea by a massive tornado. He runs through the halls of the imulsion platform, searching for Yanik, for Eugen, for Sam and Cole, but he's alone, surrounded only by screaming metal as the platform is torn apart around him. He wakes up drenched in sweat, reaching for a shadow.

A few months later, he and Sam are over at Cole's for dinner. The news is on the television with the volume down, just a droning hum in the background, until something one of the anchors says catches Baird's attention.

"_We're getting reports of a COG settlement being damaged yesterday by some sort of storm. Eyewitnesses report high winds and lightning strikes. Luckily, no one was seriously injured in the incident. This is the first settlement to be damaged by a strong weather pattern since First Minister Dyer's government began construction…"_

Bile rises in the back of Baird's throat, and he has an overwhelming urge to grab Cole's Embry Star off the mantle and hurl it at the screen. Cole is busy grabbing something from the oven, humming to himself and none the wiser about his friend's impulse to destroy his television. Baird takes a few steadying breaths. He has a newfound respect for Hoffman tanking his own officer career after the battle of Aspho Point by accepting an Embry Star on behalf of the Pesanga troops who weren't eligible for the honour.

Sam drifts over to stand next to him, glaring at the reporters on screen. They don't need to say anything; they both get it. Sam slips her hand into his and squeezes briefly, and then moves off to help Cole in the kitchen.

* * *

When it finally happens, it's almost underwhelming.

They're at a bar.

Hoffman and Bernie left early tonight along with Marcus and Anya. Dizzy and Carmine are arguing about something over at the jukebox and Cole is helping Jace as his wingman on the dancefloor. That leaves Baird and Sam sitting in Delta's usual booth by themselves, just shooting the shit. They were seated right beside each other when the rest of the squad was at the booth, and haven't moved positions since their friends dispersed into the bar.

"Ten bucks on Jace striking out," Baird says.

Sam doesn't even hesitate. "I'll take that. No way some girl doesn't try to pick him up."

"It doesn't count if _you_ go home with him."

Baird's anticipating her elbow and dodges out of the way. Not to be thwarted, Sam scoots closer and shoves him hard enough that he nearly topples over in the booth.

"You're a dick," Sam says, but she's grinning.

Baird flashes her a cocky smile before turning his head to check on Jace's progress. Jace and Cole are talking to a group of women and even from this distance, Baird can tell that one of them only has eyes for Jace. Baird turns back to Sam, ready to lament his impending loss of the bet, and finds that she's still looking at him.

She's been doing that a lot more lately, and Baird… Baird is tired of pretending not to notice.

"Tell me if I'm reading this wrong," he says, twisting his body towards Sam.

He knows he isn't. He feels like he's been approaching this inevitability his whole life.

"God, I hope not," Sam says, and shifts closer.

"Good. Otherwise this would be awkward."

Baird reaches out to palm Sam's jaw and curls his fingers around the back of her neck. Sam goes very still, eying him steadily as if she's still expecting him to chicken out. Baird's always had a stubborn streak when it comes to proving Sam wrong, and so he leans in before his brain can start to overanalyze everything and kisses her on the mouth.

It _is_ a little awkward at the start. Just pressing their lips against each other, with a pounding baseline in the background. Maybe he was expecting fireworks with all that's led up to this moment, and being met with reality is different – not disappointing, because he is most definitely kissing Sam after she gave him implicit permission, just different. She also hasn't punched him in the face yet, so he must be doing something right.

Then suddenly Sam grabs a fistful of his shirt and _tugs_. Baird parts his lips in surprise, ready to tell her off for wrinkling one of his few dress shirts, but Sam takes advantage of his open mouth and tries to shove her tongue down his throat.

Right then. He can get with the program.

It might have been a hot minute since he's last made out with anyone, but he never had any complaints from any of his previous girlfriends. There are moves he'd like to make but the logical part of his brain (growing smaller and more insignificant by the second) is still very much aware that they are in a _public place_ and Baird would really rather not end this night by getting booked for public indecency. It's desperate and messy and the angle leaves something to be desired and Baird wouldn't change anything about it.

Sam lifts her mouth off his and pulls back slightly. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

He's never answered a question so quickly in his life. "Yeah."


	2. II

**Content warnings: **Brief reference to sexual assault (Jilane/creches), abortion reference, miscarriage

* * *

II.

_I thought time was supposed to heal it  
__Don't do shit but keep you feeling  
__Older_

**21 A.E. **

Baird's still not used to this.

Having _employees._

It's weird. Is it always going to be weird? Shit, he hopes not. Being weirded out makes it harder to focus on what got him the government funding in the first place – inventing.

Half a year ago he finally let Sam and Cole bully him into renting proper office space for his little pet projects, and it's true what they say: time does fly when you're having fun. Not that it's been all _fun_, exactly. More like months and months of stress and wild mood swings punctuated by occasional fleeting moments when he could sit back and actually enjoy himself. Turns out that starting a company is complicated now that bureaucracy is in full swing again.

DB Industries.

(Sam teased him mercilessly about the name, but Baird never claimed to be creative when it came to branding.)

The _Industries _part might be a bit of a stretch at the moment – what with the company consisting of Baird and five contractors – but he's got plans. If he can get his magnum opus from concept to reality, he _knows_ he can get the company to the level of his dreams. And then he can stop sending his models to the government production facility and build everything in-house.

His parents would be writhing in their graves if they could see him now: the proud scion of the Lytton-Baird family who tanked his career as an officer and went on to become the mechanic they always dreaded.

Spite kept Baird going on those days when he wanted to throw up his hands and pack it all in. He's always been stubborn; the more somebody tells him not to do something, the more he pushes himself to succeed. _Driven_ might be a more generous way of putting it, but Baird knows himself well enough to recognize when he sets his mind on proving somebody wrong. And of course he had his friends to support him: Cole was always there with a beer and words of encouragement whenever Baird ran into a setback; Marcus was less obvious in his support but always spoke about the company as if it was a given that it would work out; and even JD's somewhat intelligible sentences seemed to contain reassurance.

And Sam, of course. Sam probably more than anyone.

Not that he'd ever _tell_ her. There'd be no living with her.

They're not, though. Living together. Baird doesn't feel particularly strongly either way about that; he's just making an observation. They _are_ together more often than not. Usually at his place, since it's bigger than her apartment and has the better mattress, and then if Baird has a sudden burst of inspiration in the middle of the night he doesn't have to disappear and drive all the way home to start working on it. Although Sam seems to understand if he does need to do that. She gets how his brain works.

It's a little alarming.

Their new relationship hasn't changed their social circle, like, at all. There was no announcement; they didn't sit down with all their friends and explain that yes, after years of unresolved sexual tension, they were in fact sleeping together now. And Baird's never been one for public displays of affection – he finds the concept somewhat egotistical (and yes, he recognizes the irony of _him_ feeling that way). It's always seemed to him like people are flaunting their relationship when they do shit like making out in a restaurant or holding hands on a walk. Okay yeah, he _did_ kiss Sam in public that first time, but he was a little tipsy and they made their exit pretty quickly before things got out of hand.

Anyway. Even if they didn't make a big deal about it or explicitly tell anyone, their friends seemed to figure it out all the same. Cole started leaving a space beside Baird when they went on a group outing for dinner or to a bar. Marcus and Anya never invite _just_ Baird or Sam over anymore, it's always the two of them.

People don't bring up Dom so much anymore.

Baird doesn't like to think about why.

* * *

Sam finds Baird one night in his workshop, bent over the schematics for his current pet project. He's dimly aware of someone entering his lab but he wants to finish his train of thought before he acknowledges the visitor – although who else would it be but Sam? Still, Baird half-expects her to burst into conversation as soon as she opens the door; he's surprised when she stays respectfully silent until he puts down his pencil and stretches.

"A bit scandalous, showing up at this hour," Baird quips, turning in his chair. "What will the neighbours think?"

Sam chuckles. "My neighbours are currently having a round of exuberant sex that I'd rather not be subjected to anymore."

"And here I thought you came over to spend time with me."

Sam pushes off from where she's been leaning next to the door and takes a few strides to stand in front of him. "That's an enjoyable side-benefit of using your place as a crash pad."

Inexplicably, Baird finds himself feeling flustered. "Uh. Right."

"Spin around again. I can tell how tight your back is from here."

Baird's momentarily thrown by the non-sequitur, but does as Sam instructs. When he has his back to her, she places her hands on his shoulders and squeezes—and yeah, she's got a point, his back and shoulders are basically made of knots at this point. Have been for the last two decades.

"What are you doing?" he asks, even though it's perfectly obvious.

"You're making me tense just looking at you," Sam answers.

Her fingers knead into a particularly tight knot of muscle at the back of his neck and he feels his whole body tense up automatically. "Shit, I can feel that behind my _eye_."

"You should take better care of yourself."

"Or hire my own personal masseuse." If those are even a thing anymore.

"That's what you have me for."

Sam digs—is that her _elbow?_—into another spot, just below his shoulder blade, and this time he feels the referral pain down into his palm. It hurts, but in a good way, and Baird isn't particularly inclined to ask her to stop. It's... nice, that she touches him. He's never really had someone in his life who would do that before. His parents were certainly never touchy-feely. He read somewhere once that humans need physical contact but always chalked that factoid up to insipid bullshit. He turned out just fine without it, didn't he?

But the sensation of Sam's hands (and elbows...) running along his back is something he can't help but lean back against. And she initiated it too, which is an ability of hers that Baird finds himself envying on occasion. She's almost careless with her touches, clearly never giving a second thought to hand on his shoulder or a peck on his cheek, whereas Baird freezes up and almost panics whenever he thinks about touching someone, even just as a friendly gesture.

After about ten or so minutes of this chair massage, Sam leans in close and presses her lips to the back of his neck. Embarrassingly, the next beat of his heart sends all the blood in his body straight to his dick. It's slightly terrifying how much of an effect Sam has on him.

He's not in the mood to psychoanalyze himself at the moment, so he pushes away the cornered, panicked feeling and focuses on his physical desires.

"You're a menace," he says, even as he twists his neck to face her.

Sam grins, completely unremorseful, and kisses him on the corner of his mouth.

_Tease._

Baird stands up as he cups Sam's face and pulls her in for a proper kiss. He can still feel her smiling against his lips. He should be annoyed that a night of productivity has been cut short, but Sam hadn't really interrupted him, and it's not her fault that his body responds so easily to her. Besides, he's been cooped up in his townhouse for three days and he _has_ actually missed her—and she must have missed him too if she's making up such a flimsy excuse about her neighbours having loud sex. (He's spent plenty of time in her apartment, and can attest from personal experience that those walls are _very_ soundproof.)

He spins them so Sam's back is up against his workbench. Without breaking the kiss, Sam hops up to sit on the top of the bench and wraps her legs around his waist, pulling his pelvis flush with hers. The sudden increase in friction against his _very interested_ dick makes Baird's brain momentarily short-circuit. He pulls away to try and suck in a steadying breath, but only manages to make a strangled sort of noise high in his throat. Sam takes advantage of the break and yanks her shirt off in one fluid motion. Baird can't help but stare for a moment before they both get to work on his own shirt—damn it, _why_ did he choose something with so many _buttons_? His fingers have lost their usual dexterity and he only manages to get three buttons undone before Sam practically tears his shirt open and pushes it off his shoulders. He's never been able to figure out how exactly things with Sam can go from sweet to _nownownow_ so quickly.

"Why do you have so many layers?" Sam grumbles as she pulls his undershirt over his head.

"_Excuse me_ if I'm not psychic—" The rest of his quip is cut off as Sam attacks him with her mouth again. Talking, Baird decides, can wait.

He somehow manages to unclasp her bra and flings it over his shoulder, and then pushes her down. Backing up a few steps so he can shove his jeans down his legs, Baird takes a moment to enjoy the sight: Sam, naked from the waist up, sprawled over the top of his workbench, a smug grin on her face. Two years and he doesn't know if he'll ever get used to the fact that he can reach out and _touch. _

"What are you thinking about?" Sam asks, propping herself up on one elbow.

There are so many things he could say, but they all get caught in his throat. Instead, Baird closes the distance between them in a few quick steps. For him, actions have always spoken louder than words.

* * *

After the fourth COG settlement is damaged by another "freak" storm, the government finally concedes that maybe the weather patterns aren't so random after all. Baird rolls his eyes all the way through the press conference where First Minister Dyer announces the changes to settlements currently under construction. Not a single mention of the Gorasni settlements that were obliterated on the coast before whatever these storms are started making their way inland and inconveniencing Tyrans. Although Baird wouldn't really expect anything else out of the government. It's almost comforting to know how the new leadership stacks up to good old Prescott: same shit, different excuses.

At least New Ephyra appears to be out of the path of the storms.

And as callous as it is to say, it's good for business. People are still jumpy about unprotected settlements and sales for DB Industries' Watchers always spike after a storm damages the encircling walls. His latest model, the Tracker, is almost out of testing and ready for shipment—their ability to detonate an electrical field should make construction workers on the settlements feel less exposed. The government has already placed a few bulk orders, and Baird's expecting more once the Trackers are out in the field and people see what they can do firsthand.

The night before the first batch of Trackers is due to ship, Baird stays late at the office. It's a common thing for him any time he has merchandise about to go out: he wants to go over every detail with a fine-toothed comb himself, looking for something that might have slipped past the engineers in the assembly process, or a small error in the code that could cause irreparable damage to his name recognition. He's never found anything major—a misaligned part here and there, a benign coding error—but he figures the one time he decides it's fine is the one time something will go wrong.

So he calls Sam at his place, tells her not to wait up, and prepares for a long, coffee-fueled night.

It's just gone 23:00 when he sees the first flash outside his window.

_The hell?_ he thinks, and gets up from his workbench to look outside. _They didn't forecast a thunderstorm for tonight._

But it's not a thunderstorm outside. Not even razorhail. It's like something straight out of Baird's nightmares about the Emerald Spar.

Pandemonium incarnate. A massive, violently rotating vortex of air in the distance. It almost looks like a tornado but it's _wrong_—it's enormous and more chaotic, a vertical pillar of wind, and... glowing? From the inside?

And then a bolt of electricity shoots out of the vortex and tears a chunk out of a building.

_Holy shit._

For a second, Baird can't quite process what's happening. Maybe it isn't real. It certainly doesn't seem real. There's another electrical discharge from the storm, accompanied by a thunderous boom of something being destroyed out of his sightline. Fuck, that thing is powerful if it can rip through steel and concrete like paper. Then his heart beats and the adrenaline hits him and he snaps out of whatever shock-induced stupor he was in.

_Sam._

Fucking shit, she's alone at his place and Baird's stuck halfway across the settlement. A frantic part of him considers running out to the parking lot and speeding back to his townhome, but he knows that's impossible. Whatever the hell that storm is, it's definitely better to stay inside and wait it out. Trying to move anywhere—even to another building—would be suicide.

God, he really hopes Sam comes to the same conclusion.

_Yeah, right. When has Sam ever been smart?_

He yanks the phone on his desk out of its cradle and dials his house. _Please,_ he thinks, although he's unable to articulate what he's asking for. _Please, please, please._

The first ring has barely finished before a sharp inhale of breath sounds on the line. _"Hello?"_

A weight lifts off Baird's shoulders at the sound of Sam's voice. "It's me. Are you seeing this shit outside?"

Sam mumbles something quickly under her breath – something that sounds suspiciously like _ohthankgod_ – and laughs shakily. _"Yeah. It's bad. Where are you?"_

"Still at the lab. I don't think I can leave until... whatever this is blows over. _Do not_ go outside, for the love of god."

"_I fig— that out –self, fun— enough."_

"Sam? You're breaking up."

"_I c— you. Are—?"_

Panic starts to flare in Baird's chest. "Sam?"

"—_d?" _

The electrical nightmare outside pulses again, and this time multiple tendrils of lightning go streaking across the sky. The phone line goes dead at the same time the lights go out.

_Fuck!_

He knows the storm has just knocked out the settlement's power, but he still feels the painful surge of anxiety. There's nothing he can do but wait for this to pass. He _hates_ waiting. Hates feeling useless.

He wonders if this was what Yanik saw before he died – and that thought kicks off a whole new round of spiraling.

He worries about Sam, because of course he does. He wishes he hadn't stayed late this evening, that he'd gone home at a normal time so they could have been together when this happened. Not that simply being with Sam would somehow prevent anything from happening to her, but at least he'd _know_ and wouldn't be stuck just wondering.

He worries about Cole, because he doesn't know where his friend is tonight. At home? At the army base? Baird doesn't know which he would prefer—which would be safer. He can't call Cole either, so again, he gets to just wait and hope.

He worries about Marcus and Anya and JD. The Stroud Estate is far enough away from New Ephyra that it probably isn't taking as much of a battering as the settlement is, but Baird has no way of knowing if there's another swirling vortex of death out there. The estate is solid, sure, but it's old, and somehow Baird doesn't think that Marcus's renovations had anything to do with making it tornado-proof.

_Moron._

The grubs have only been gone four years and he's already forgotten how fragile peace can be. Stupid, complacent _idiot._

It was supposed to be _finished_.

Eventually, mercifully, the storm starts to blow over. Once Baird is reasonably certain the winds have died down enough that he won't be dancing with death, he books it from his office to his car parked on the street. Amazingly it appears relatively unscathed—there are certainly a few more scratches and dents than when he parked it hours ago, but the engine starts and the wheels work and that's all that really matters right now.

He races through the empty streets, doing his absolute best not to let the myriad of ways Sam could have been hurt—or worse—run through his head. He's not overly successful. This has gotta be it, right? The payback he's been waiting for. He thought he was in the clear after JD's birth—but he should know better by now.

It's a short drive to his townhouse without any traffic. Baird pulls into the driveway and doesn't even bother to close the car door behind him as he practically leaps from the vehicle. He runs up the few steps to his door, but before he can even reach out with his keys, the door is swinging open.

"You _drove_ in _this_?" Sam says.

Baird's vision does a funny sort of tunnelling thing as he takes in the sight of Sam, dressed in sweatpants and a housecoat, glaring at him from the threshold. Safe. Unharmed. Angry. Sam. He doesn't know who moves first—maybe they do simultaneously—but suddenly their arms are wrapped around each other, Baird trying to hold Sam as close as possible. Physics won't allow for two objects to occupy the same space but damn if he doesn't _try_.

He's shaking, he realizes dimly. The aftershocks of adrenaline working its way out of his system now that his world isn't in imminent danger of ending.

There's a frantic knock on the door behind them, and Baird reluctantly releases Sam to open it. Another wave of relief hits him as he sees Cole standing on the front step.

"You guys okay?" Cole asks.

Baird nods, not trusting himself to be able to keep a steady voice. Cole steps inside the house and pulls them both into a giant bear hug. Baird lets himself relax into it. He feels weak all of a sudden, as if the slightest breeze could topple him over.

The power comes back a few hours later, and before Baird can even reach for the phone to dial Marcus and Anya, it's ringing.

"Hello?" Baird answers, though he has a pretty good idea who it is.

"_I'm guessing you saw whatever the hell that was that just tore through,"_ replies Marcus. It could almost pass for sheer annoyance if the ex-sergeant's voice wasn't so tight.

Baird grins. Marcus is alive and trying to sound pissed off—so Anya and JD must be all right. "Oh yeah. Do you think my insurance will cover the damage to my car?"

Marcus snorts.

After they hang up, more phone calls are made: Hoffman and Bernie are fine in Anvegad; Carmine and Jace are in another settlement and hadn't even heard about it yet; and Dizzy and his girls managed to wait out the storm with a group of people in an underpass. Everyone is, miraculously, okay.

Sam and Cole crack open some beers in the living room, giddy with relief. Baird joins them, but he isn't able to shake the unease buzzing in his head. He'd thought this was it: the overdue payback, the universe balancing itself out again. E-Day happened two years after the end of the Pendulum Wars. It's been twice that amount of time since they destroyed the grubs, and yet... nothing.

Baird sits beside Sam on the couch, trying to ground himself with the feeling of her body pressed up against his side. But he can't stop thinking about it now.

Something's coming.

One day, they'll have to pay a price for this peace.

* * *

Other people aren't so lucky, of course.

While New Ephyra's death toll in the wake of the storm is (in Baird's estimation) relatively low – less than a dozen – it's the most people that have been lost in a single event since the end of the Locust War. And in the COG's new capital, to boot. Baird isn't really surprised when First Minister Dyer requests a meeting at DB Industries.

"You're one of our leading scientific minds," Dyer says when he's seated in Baird's office.

(Baird feels his hackles rise at _one of_, but decides to let it go. He's growing as a person, see.)

"If we can't understand why these windflares are happening and stop them," the First Minister continues, "then we need to be better prepared to withstand them."

"I'm sure I can come up with something," Baird says.

He's already been sketching rough ideas for a sort of wind wall, since he's finding it hard to sleep at night in the wake of experiencing a storm firsthand. His nightmares about the Emerald Spar have shifted slightly, incorporating familiar electrical discharges.

Baird solidifies his ideas into an actual schematic, the size of which takes both him and the First Minister by surprise. But really, if the COG wants something that can protect entire settlements, it's going to have to be _big_. Bigger than what DB Industries can produce on its own; bigger even than the COG's assembly lines can handle. Baird's windwall design lands him a massive funding grant from the government, one that expands his workforce by nearly 500% and greenlights his Builder project in one go.

DB _Industries_ after all.

* * *

**22 A.E.**

There's a lot of fanfare about the opening of the Tomas Dalyell Maternity Ward in the New Ephyra General Hospital, but Baird doesn't pay much attention to it. He's not convinced he'll ever be in a hospital again, much less a maternity ward as Marcus and Anya seem content with just the one offspring, so he always switches the channel during news coverage of the expansion.

A meeting with a government official brings Baird to the hospital. For all that Baird likes to discuss business proposals in his own office, he's not egotistical enough to refuse a different location if it means another contract for his company. The Minister of Health Services, Jillian Audley, wants to make hospitals standard across all new settlements. Since DB Industries basically runs the show when it comes to planning and building the settlements, it makes sense that she'd want to discuss her plans with the CEO.

Presumably these plans have already been approved by First Minister Dyer and will be implemented regardless, but Baird can appreciate at least wanting to _appear_ like they're asking for his input. Best to keep their pet inventor happy.

He takes two steps inside the new maternity ward, and what he sees on the walls nearly sends him running out the door again.

He's used to propaganda posters; he saw plenty of those in the barracks and army buildings during the war. All about fighting the good fight and sacrificing yourself for humanity, yadda yadda yadda. But the posters in the hospital are _horrifying_.

The perfect nuclear family, all flanking the father, with the words OUR FUTURE IS THEIR FUTURE boldly proclaimed on the poster. A child on a swing. WE BUILD FOR THEM. A brunette woman holding a baby, a painfully bright smile on her ecstatic face. FIND YOUR PURPOSE.

The birthing creches may have been closed at the end of the war – disavowed, condemned by Dyer – but it doesn't seem like all that much has changed.

Baird does his best to avert his eyes, but the posters are plastered _everywhere._ He counts the tiles on the floor until Minister Audley comes to meet him and lead him to her office. Audley must be a couple years younger than him – and Baird can't help but wonder if she served during the war, or if she was conscripted to a birthing creche. His face colours and he quickly dismisses that thought, moving on to the next obvious fact: Audley's either just eaten a big meal or she's a few months pregnant. Fitting, he supposes, for the Minister of Health Services to have _found her purpose_.

"Thank you for taking the time to meet with me, Mr. Baird," Audley says after she sits down behind her desk. The posters are even in her frigging office. "As you know, the government wishes to standardize all future settlements to ensure all our citizens have access to the best services, regardless of location."

Baird smiles tightly and nods.

"This new maternity ward is meant to be a blueprint for future hospitals in future settlements," Audley continues, either oblivious to Baird's discomfort or studiously ignoring it. "I see it as an investment in humanity's future."

It makes sense, on the surface. There was an astronomical loss of the population after E-Day, and things didn't exactly get better as the war dragged on for another seventeen years. Humanity was on the brink of extinction only a few years ago; it will need a little encouragement to get back on its feet.

But Baird has seen firsthand what "encouragement" looks like. Eight years ago, Marcus dragged him and Delta-One to Jilane. Baird was a fucking asshole about it at the time; he blamed it on having to spend an extended amount of time with Alex Brand. But now, looking back on that experience (which he tries his very best _not_ to remember), he thinks that maybe he was on the defensive because he was suddenly confronted with the only alternative for women who weren't drafted into war work. He made no secret about how he disapproved of female Gears serving on the front lines – and never thought about what the other option was for women after Prescott implemented the Fortification Act. It was the army or the breeding farms.

Maybe he's being a bit irrational to compare this new maternity ward to Jilane so quickly. Dyer can't _force_ his female citizens to get pregnant and give birth, not in the same way Prescott's government did. But if every hospital in the new settlements is going to look like this maternity ward... Baird doesn't know if he wants to be a part of that.

It'll happen, of course. With or without him. So maybe in the end that's why Baird agrees to take a look at the building plans and schematics, and give his design input.

Audley stands up to shake his hand and walk him back to the hospital lobby. Now that she's gotten her way, she doesn't seem overly interested in trying to make polite conversation to fill the silence. Good, Baird thinks. He's never had much patience for bullshit.

They stop in front of the reception desk, and Audley promises to email Baird the blueprints by the end of the day. Baird is ready to get the hell out of there when Audley suddenly asks him:

"Do you have children, Mr. Baird?"

"No," he answers, hoping his tone is enough warning for Audley to back off.

It isn't. "Do you plan on having any?"

"No."

Audley places a hand on her swollen stomach. "A pity."

* * *

Baird squats down to pick up the tiny toy robot sticking out from under the couch. He grins when he sees it; it's one of the first toys he built JD, for his second birthday, and its position under the couch means that JD hasn't yet abandoned it for something else.

"Remind me again why I got roped into this?" Baird asks as he stands back up. Something in his hip cracks and he barely manages to muffle a curse. Even if JD isn't currently in sight, he doesn't need the kid picking up his bad language and taking it back to his parents.

From the kitchen, Cole responds, "Because we're good friends who want to give Marcus and Anya a break."

"Yeah, but why am _I_ a part of this?"

Cole turns around from where he's washing up from lunch and gives Baird a flat stare.

"I don't know why you keep up the heartless bastard front," Sam says, rounding the corner with JD balanced on her hip. "We all know it's bullshit." She grabs a juice box and disappears out of sight again before Baird can argue with her.

Rude.

It's not that Baird doesn't like babysitting JD – at least now that Baird isn't 100% responsible for keeping the kid from killing himself. Baird thought it would be weird, as he'd never made it a secret that he wasn't exactly the biggest fan of children (he doesn't know how to communicate with things that don't understand sarcasm), but JD has always been different somehow. Maybe the fact that he's Marcus and Anya's kid and JD already seems to have inherited his parents' stoicism. Although he can still be a little terror and throw the occasional temper tantrum, Baird doesn't find JD's crying as grating as that of other children. Must be his latent uncle instincts kicking in.

Now Baird only puts up a token protest when Sam or Cole volunteers him for babysitting duties. Marcus and Anya never ask, of course, but then again that's so very _them_. Never wanting to inconvenience anyone, even their closest friends. Baird supposes he should be honoured that Marcus trusts him enough to actually leave the estate and go into town for the day, instead of just napping upstairs or something.

(Hoffman and Bernie are in New Ephyra for some COG leadership meeting. Now that Dyer's been First Minister for a few years and appears to have settled into the job, Hoffman seems to be less wary of coming back to the capital. Marcus and Anya, of course, stay as far away from the government and the military as possible, lest someone tries to rope them back in. But the four of them are taking the much-needed time to catch up at Hoffman's "official" New Ephyra residence without a small child running them off their feet. Baird's planning on swinging by at some point before they leave; he can't let Mataki visit New Ephyra without riling her up.)

From somewhere in the house, JD lets out a jubilant shriek that nearly shatters Baird's eardrums. There's the sound of footsteps running across the hardwood floor and then JD comes tearing into the kitchen.

"Uncle Cole! Auntie Sam said we could play thrashball in the backyard!"

Baird feels himself age another ten years at the prospect. He has no idea how Marcus and Anya do this every day; he's only been here for a couple hours and already he feels like he could use a time-out in a silent room.

Predictably, Cole grins widely. "Sure thing, kiddo! You gonna be on my team?"

"Duh!"

JD claps his hands and takes off, presumably to go dig out a thrashball. Baird shoots Cole a glare from across the room.

"What?" Cole asks innocently. "I can't say no to my own nephew."

Baird just rolls his eyes – although he's still going to play thrashball, even if he is keenly feeling every one of his forty-one years today. Sam returns to the kitchen with some dishes she's collected from around the house and deposits them next to the sink. Then she drifts over to stand next to Baird and bumps him with her hip.

"Think we can take them?" she asks.

Baird snorts. "I think you picked the wrong teammate. Haven't really been keeping up with the Gear training regimen."

"I dunno," Sam says. "I think we make a pretty good team."

Baird doesn't answer, but he does shift slightly so his side is pressed up against Sam.

Surprising absolutely no one, Cole and JD utterly trounce Baird and Sam in their backyard thrashball game. JD runs circles around all of them, though, and Baird can't help but think that his nephew is the winning factor in this equation, not Cole's previous career. It makes Baird a little sad to think that Cole's playing days are behind him – not that there's a league or anything Cole could play in even if he wanted to, and Cole seems happy enough as an army grunt. Baird's not really sure why he feels all weird when he thinks about Cole no longer playing professionally.

Maybe it's just the reminder that time keeps ticking along. JD's four already; he'll be starting school probably in the next year or two. The kid's had his name down at an elite boarding school in New Ephyra since he was born. It surprises Baird a bit that Marcus and Anya are even considering sending JD away from home for his education, but Baird supposes that parents always want what's best for their children.

During the last play of the "game" – with Baird and Sam trailing miserably behind – Sam has a sudden burst of energy and runs JD down to tackle him. JD screams in delight as they wrestle on the grass; he holds the ball tight to his body and Sam tickles his sides in an effort to steal the ball away. Cole roars with laughter from the sidelines and Baird can't help but smirk at the sight. It's nice to see unrestrained joy on Sam's face.

There's a sudden hollowness in Baird's chest as he thinks of Minister Audley's question: _"Do you have any children?"_

His stomach drops as he watches Sam and JD tussle. He pushes past it and goes to grab the ball and get at least once touchdown.

Marcus and Anya return just before the sun sets. JD's already gone to bed by the time his parents get home, exhausted from the exercise his aunt and uncles gave him for a good few hours in the afternoon. The five of them open a bottle of wine – Marcus has taken up growing grapes in his retirement – and sit around in the living room until the moon is high in the night sky. Eventually they say their goodbyes – JD even trudging out of bed with sleep-bleary eyes to thank them for a good time – and Baird drives the three of them back to New Ephyra. Cole walks back to his place from Baird's townhouse after staying for a quick nightcap.

After Baird and Sam have seen Cole off, they make their way to the master bedroom. Baird's long past the point of asking Sam if she's going home; she stays over most nights, and half her closet seems to have ended up at Baird's place. The only times she really goes back to her apartment is if she has an early morning on base and needs something she hasn't already moved to Baird's.

Baird's just pulling on his sweatpants when Sam is suddenly behind him, her chest pressed right up against his back as she brings her arms around him. He might have mistaken it for an affectionate hug if not for the fact that Sam's hands slip under his waistband and her fingers begin to rub tantalizing patterns against his skin.

His heartrate kicks up – but it's not just arousal.

They've never talked about it – having kids. Baird figures it's because it isn't really in their control. Since humanity was nearly obliterated, methods of birth control have never been high on the priority list of things to start producing again. Sam's never said she couldn't... never said she _could_ either. So, unless Baird wants to be celibate or stick to oral and anal sex for the rest of his life, this is something that will always be a distant possibility.

He's never wanted kids. He's content to be JD's cool uncle.

But Sam... he doesn't know.

He's probably reading too much into it; spending the day watching JD most likely has no bearing on Sam's sex drive.

The smiling face of the woman on the maternity ward poster comes to him, unbidden.

_FIND YOUR PURPOSE._

He should really have this conversation with Sam. But he doesn't know if he actually wants to know the answer.

He turns around in her embrace and kisses her anyway.

* * *

They've both had pretty frequent nightmares since the end of the war. Baird's are usually more subdued; he'll wake up when the ground is ripped away from under his feet, usually with no more than a jolt and a gasp. Sometimes he clocks that he's dreaming and then the images just leak away as he comes to consciousness, but those are rare occasions. Sam, on the other hand, has more visceral reactions. She'll thrash, flail, even scream – she warned Baird about it before she stayed over for the first time, but it still scared the shit out of him when he woke up thinking she was being murdered.

Tonight is one of those nights. He's been sleeping pretty restlessly lately, feeling antsy for reasons he doesn't want to examine. So he's sort of prepared for it when Sam starts twitching and whimpering beside him. (She told him years ago not to wake her up during a nightmare; she'd punched a few well-meaning bunkmates during the Locust War. Still, it's hard for him to just sit there and listen to the distressed noises she's making.) Eventually Sam wakes up with a choked-off scream. She sits upright in bed and does whatever she does to calm herself down. Her breathing returns to normal after a few minutes and she turns to see that Baird is watching.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Sam asks as she settles on her side.

"No, I've been tossing and turning for most of the night."

"I told you to cut back on the coffee." She prods him in the chest for effect.

He rolls his eyes. An awkward silence descends over them, unspoken questions hanging in the air. Finally, Baird's curiosity gets the better of him.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Sam lowers her gaze. "Mercy."

_Oh._

Baird doesn't envy her. In the first few weeks after, Baird found himself wishing that he'd gone to Azura with the rest of Delta Squad instead of splitting off to track down the Gorasni. Maybe if he'd been there, he could have seen something—maybe Dom would still be... But, as more time passed and he started to move through the different stages of grief, he realized he was actually glad that he wasn't there for it. He didn't have to see it firsthand and have that moment burned into his memory for the rest of his life; he got to go on for a few more hours in blissful ignorance, unaware of what the trip to Mercy had cost them.

"I'm sorry," Baird says, because he doesn't know what she wants to hear, but it's better than saying nothing.

Sam continues: "Sometimes it's just reliving that day except I know what's coming this time, but no one will believe me, or I can't speak. And sometimes I'm in the tanker with Dom—" Something flares, sharp and white-hot, in Baird's chest—"and we don't die right away, and there's just screaming and _heat_ and..." Sam sighs. "I thought they would have stopped by now."

Baird knows how treacherous the mind can be. He used to sleep fine, despite all that had happened to him during the Locust War, but now he keeps seeing visions of a windflare tearing apart an imulsion platform around him. He doesn't know why that of all things haunts him, when the grubs and glowies should more easily lend themselves to nightmares.

Nothing he can say will make it better—the dreams will stop or they won't, for both of them—so instead he pulls Sam up against his chest and runs one of his hands up and down her spine. Hopefully that's soothing. He's seen Anya do something similar to JD after the kid's hurt himself and crying. Eventually Sam seems to relax against him and slips back into sleep.

But now, Baird finds himself suddenly wide awake.

He can't discern if that pang he felt under his ribs when Sam was describing her nightmare was a result of Baird imagining if Sam had been the one to make the sacrifice play—or the fact that, in her dreams, she's with Dom.

* * *

**23 A.E.**

"I'm late."

Baird doesn't look up from the edition of _The New Ephyra Post_ that he's reading. "Late for what?"

Sam huffs, clearly annoyed. "My period is late."

The moment freezes as Baird lets that sink in. He feels tense, like he's trapped in a room full of glass and any wrong move, no matter how miniscule, will set off a disastrous chain reaction. The words on the newspaper page blur in front of him. He can _feel_ his pulse in his fingertips.

He turns to face Sam. "You're... sure?"

Sam is standing between the kitchen and the living room, dressed in a pair of worn jeans and an old sweater. His eyes involuntarily flick down to her stomach.

"I'm pretty sure," Sam answers dryly.

Baird lets out a long, slow breath. "Okay then."

"Yeah."

He's irritated at himself for being surprised, but – he kind of thought they were in the clear. Sam turned forty not a few months ago and considering their rather active sex life, Baird figured that if Sam was going to get knocked up, it would have happened by now. Of course that's not logical at all. When he was a kid, he knew plenty of his parents' acquaintances who had tried for years to have a kid without success. Sometimes the stars just had to be in the right place for conception.

"What do you want to do?" Baird asks.

Something flickers across Sam's face, gone before Baird can name it. "I sort of thought we'd have that discussion together."

"It's your body." He thinks he's being supportive, but the look Sam shoots him means he definitely missed that mark by a mile.

"It's not just _my_ future that this changes."

Terminating the pregnancy is out of the question, unless Sam wants to risk going to some back-alley doctor with a coat hanger who would probably leave her mangled and bleeding out. (Baird's insides contort at the very thought.) The new COG has gone all-in on its repopulation initiative, bringing down extremely harsh sentences on any medical practitioner who's caught performing abortions – and the women who are so "irresponsible" with their _purpose_. Even if Sam wants to consider that option, Baird won't risk it. Not for anything.

There's always adoption – there are plenty of infertile couples who desperately crave a child – but somehow Baird can't bring himself to suggest that. It seems cruel, even for him, for that to be the first option he considers. But the logical alternative... raising a child between them... that thought is paralyzing.

"Might be nice for JD to have a cousin," Baird finally manages to hedge, his voice strained.

Sam stares at him for a long moment. "I guess we'll see what happens. It might just be an irregular cycle."

"Haven't your cycles always been pretty regular?"

"Yeah."

_Shit._

* * *

They don't tell anyone.

It's too early, Baird rationalizes. Marcus and Anya didn't announce they were pregnant with JD until about three months in. Less awkward that way if they ended up miscarrying or if it was a false positive. But as more and more days pass and Sam's period doesn't start, reality starts to sink in.

He's going to be a father.

That thought fills him with existential terror.

Baird has _never_ wanted children. His own upbringing convinced him that if he wasn't one hundred percent onboard with the idea, then it wouldn't be fair to any potential offspring to force them into the world with resentment and regret. Of course, his mother and father ostensibly wanted a kid; they ended up with him and they were all worse for it. Baird's convinced his parents had him for the sole purpose of carrying on the Lytton-Baird legacy, not out of love. Baird had gotten his revenge eventually – by falling in love with engineering and then pissing the family's good name away within the first year of the Locust War. There's a reason he called his company DB Industries. Baird wanted a fresh start, something completely removed from his family legacy. Of course, there are very few people left alive who remember – or even care about – some magistrate and his haughty wife who died over twenty years ago.

Whatever.

Fatherhood is being forced on him, regardless of how Baird feels about it.

Sam is a lot quieter. The contemplation and the worry come off of her in waves. She spends more time her apartment during the week than normal, which shouldn't really be anything to worry about – but Baird finds himself imagining the worst. Maybe Sam has always really wanted a baby and just never brought it up around him, for obvious reasons. Or maybe she's slowly coming to the conclusion that Baird isn't father material and is trying to figure out her next move.

Has she always felt this way? Was this inevitable?

* * *

"Are you okay?" Cole asks.

"What?"

Baird realizes he was spacing out and immediately feels guilty. The two of them haven't really seen each other in a while and Cole suggested that they grab drinks to catch up. Baird's barely send a dozen words since they sat down half an hour ago.

"Are you okay?" Cole repeats. "I know you can drift away when you're thinking about work, but this is... different."

Baird panics. He wants to tell Cole but he _can't_. "I'm fine. Just tired. Long days, y'know?"

It sounds like a lie even to Baird. He's such an ass, lying to his best friend.

"You know you can talk to me, yeah? About anything."

_No, I can't. Not about this._ "Yeah man, I know." Baird forces a smile. "Seriously, it's all good."

Cole stares at him for a long moment before his shoulders slump slightly in a sigh. Then, like changing a channel, Cole's face lights up again. "Do you know someone asked me this morning what it was like to serve under the Hero of Halvo Bay?"

Baird still feels numb, detached; he snorts anyway, playing the part. "I'm surprised anyone still remembers that bastard when Hoffman's the living legend."

They shoot the shit for another hour before Cole decides to end Baird's suffering and call it a night. Baird stews in his guilt the whole ride home. He's normally better at compartmentalizing; he shouldn't have let this ruin Cole's evening. When Cole pulls up to the curb in front of Baird's place, Baird hesitates a moment before getting out of the car.

"Hey man," he says, "I'm sorry about tonight. I didn't mean to be such a downer."

Cole waves him off. "Don't sweat it. Thanks for coming out anyway."

"I'll see you later."

"Definitely." Cole suddenly turns serious again. "I meant what I said earlier. Anything, baby."

"I know. But like I said, everything's fine."

* * *

In the end, it turns out that Baird's endless worrying is for nothing.

He wakes up to a muffled "_Shit_," and the sensation of something wet against his thigh.

"Wuzzat?" he slurs as he pushes himself upright. The room is dark but he can hear Sam moving around next to him. Did she spill a glass of water in the bed?

Sam throws back the covers at the same time that Baird reaches for the bedside lamp. "I think I'm-oh _fuck_."

Baird looks down and what he sees sends his pulse skyrocketing. There's a red, wet patch on the front of Sam's pyjama pants, and a stain on the sheets right up against Baird's leg from where Sam had evidently been sprawled in her sleep. Blood. Not enough to indicate imminent danger, but certainly more than Baird would like to wake up to – which is none.

"_Shit_, what the fuck is–?" Baird starts.

"I'm fine," Sam interrupts. "It's fine – it's –"

"You're _fine_?" Baird splutters. His voice has gone up a couple octaves. "You're _bleeding_, we need to go to the _hospital_ –"

"I don't have to go to the hospital, there's not that much –"

Baird's barely listening to her. All he can see is the blood – coming from Sam. They have to go _now_. "Fuck _that_, get your coat."

He throws a clean pair of sweatpants at Sam as he pulls on a shirt. Sam lets out a harsh breath but doesn't argue anymore. Two minutes later they're in Baird's car and heading for New Ephyra General. It's a silent car trip; neither of them say anything the whole way there. Sam seems to have gone into some sort of shutdown mode, or maybe she's just in shock. Baird is deliberately _not thinking_ about anything other than which streets he needs to turn down.

When they arrive at the hospital, Baird starts to stride purposefully towards the check-in desk but Sam grabs his arm. "That poor nurse doesn't deserve whatever tirade you're about to throw at her. Stay here."

Baird screws up his mouth and tries his best not to be insulted. Sam has a point though; he's dangerously close to flying off the handle. Whatever Sam says to the nurse at the desk, they find themselves ushered into a room almost immediately. Sam has barely changed into her hospital gown when a doctor—female, smiling—enters the room and tells her to sit on the examination table.

"I'm Dr. Gael Fadow. I understand we need to pass some pregnancy tissue?"

Still not trusting himself to speak, Baird keeps his mouth shut. Sam takes the lead. "Yes. I'm sure I'm fine, but my—" She pauses as her eyes flick towards Baird.

Fadow follows her gaze. "Ah, yes. Well, the experience can be quite alarming. In any case, it's probably best to perform a D&C to minimize the risk of infection. Unless you'd prefer to wait for the tissue to pass naturally."

"A what?" Baird asks.

"It's a simple procedure," Fadow answers. "We dilate the cervix and then remove the contents of the uterus."

Baird almost appreciates how clinical the doctor sounds. It helps him to keep up his mental barrier so he doesn't have to go down that confusing emotional path.

"We're here," Sam says. "Might as well."

They get back home just as the sun is starting to rise. Baird debates trying to go back to sleep but, even though he feels bone tired, he has a sneaking suspicion he'll just end up starting angrily at the ceiling, waiting for his brain to turn off. Sam doesn't go up to the bedroom either; she heads straight for the kitchen and flips on the coffee maker. The slump of her shoulders makes Baird's insides twist in on themselves.

Strangely, Baird wishes Dom was here. Dom had lost children – not that Baird really considers what happened tonight as the loss of a child – more like the loss of a possibility. Dom would know what to say to Sam. He'd have the perfect words because he was just so damn _good_. Better than Baird could ever be at this stuff.

The suffocating silence is too much to endure. Baird wants to go up behind Sam and fold her into an embrace, but he's afraid. Of what, he can't really name – but it feels like something that's been at the corners of his vision for a while and is suddenly coming into sharper focus.

"I'm sorry," he finally says.

"Yeah," Sam responds quietly. "Me too."

She doesn't turn around for a long time.

* * *

Baird should feel relieved, but if anything, in the days after Sam's miscarriage, he feels even more off-balance. Life should go back to normal – they've cleared that hurdle and are back on the same path they were only a few weeks ago. But that's not the case. Baird can feel the monumental shift in their lives – he sees it in Sam's subdued manner, in Cole's worrying looks between the two of them when they're together, in how Baird throws himself into designing a new bot. There's some unnamed thing haunting them now. The ghost of a decision that didn't have to be made.

One afternoon he's working at the lab, just tinkering with a small part that could potentially fix a minor issue with the Watchers. He applies a bit too much pressure and the material fractures around his screwdriver.

"Shit," he mutters, annoyed. He hates wasting—

And suddenly the realization hits him like a train.

What if this whole situation has exposed an underlying crack in Baird and Sam's relationship? And now it's only going to get bigger and bigger because there's nothing that binds them together.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._

It's so obvious. Why hadn't he seen it before? They're hurtling towards the inevitable meltdown, always have been. Unless he can do something to keep them together.

He has a sudden flash of inspiration.

For the rest of the day, he buzzes with anticipation. He's nervous – that's natural, right? Of course it is. He's sure Marcus must have been nervous before he asked Anya, however much of a foregone conclusion the two of them were. But there's a niggling feeling in the back of Baird's mind that this isn't a good nervous energy. It's almost more akin to how he used to feel when he was in the field, waiting of an e-hole to open.

He waits until Sam comes over after eating dinner at the garrison. She's barely taken five steps through the door when he can't contain himself any longer.

"We should get married."

Sam seems to choke, although she's not drinking anything. "_What_?"

"I want you to marry me."

He's expecting Sam to break out in a smile. Instead, she looks like he just told her that he's got a terminal illness—shocked, confused, and a little bit heartbroken.

"We've never talked about that," Sam says. "I thought we were on the same page."

She's not saying yes. Why isn't she saying yes? This was supposed to be the solution. "And what page is that?"

"That we didn't need a piece of paper to prove our commitment. At least _I _don't need that." Something is beginning to bleed into Sam's voice—anger.

Why is she mad at him? What did he do wrong? (_Plenty_, his brain supplies.)

Baird frowns. "So that's a no, then?"

"Why do you want to do this _now_?" Sam counters, suddenly on the attack. "Because I have an idea. But if you don't know, then we really need to clear some things up."

He knew it. He's known it all along and just ignored it because it was convenient, because he finally had what he wanted. He should have known better.

"Why is it such a big deal? You basically spend all your time here anyway."

"Are you asking me to marry you because you want me to _move in with you_?" Sam sounds exasperated.

"_No_! I'm asking you because—" The words get stuck in his throat. Why? Why, why, _why_?

"Then why?"

_Shit. _He's tired of being on the defensive.

"You know what I think?" Baird says venomously.

"Oh yeah, what's that?" It's like she's warning him to back off and daring him to do it at the same time.

"You would have said yes if Dom asked you."

It's the first time Baird's said Dom's name in years. The anger and tension disappear from the room in an instant, replaced with an eerie stillness. As if mentioning Dom has somehow stopped time. Baird can see, like someone looking in on this scene from the outside, that he's said the worst possible thing imaginable. It hangs between them—the accusation, the betrayal.

Sam stares at him evenly, giving him the chance to take it back. He could. So _easily_. But a masochistic part of him wants to finally let this play out and see what the result is. He's been avoiding it for years. Time to finally face the music.

Sam closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep, steadying breath.

The anger comes rushing back in.

"If you honestly believe that," Sam hisses, "then you are _not_ the man I thought I knew."

_You're right. I never was._

"Then why?" Baird pushes. He's so far past thin ice at this point that he's already drowning. "Because from where I'm standing, there's no reason to turn me down."

Sam lets out a loud, choked laugh. "You fucking _arsehole_. You're supposed to ask someone to marry you because you _love them_, not because you're _scared_."

Baird feels his blood run cold and his shoulders tense up. It's exactly like back in the hospital when JD was born and Sam could see right through him. And his response is the same as it was back then – to hit back.

"Then tell me this has _nothing_ to do with how you were in love with Dom."

Sam just shakes her head. "You are so full of shit." And then she turns on her heel and storms towards the front door.

He could stop her. He could run after her and apologize, admit that she was right – that he _is_ scared, he's always been scared that he was just the second choice – because once she walks out that door, he knows it'll be too late. She'll never forgive him for this, for destroying four years of their lives over his insecurities. A small part of him screams for him to move – but his feet feel like they've been grafted to the floor.

Sam seems to pause at the door for half a second, as if she's waiting for – expecting – him to come after her.

He doesn't.

She wrenches the door open and exits into the street. It's a warm night. Baird watches as she disappears around the corner. She doesn't look back. Not once.

The door slowly closes behind her, swinging shut on their future.

* * *

Baird doesn't stay at home that night. As soon as the numbness begins to wear off, he packs a bag and heads for DB Industries. It's not an uncommon sight for his employees to see him spend days at a time at the lab – his office is equipped with a small ensuite washroom for such occasions, so he can brush his teeth and shower and look presentable for potential investors or unexpected meetings. It comes in handy.

He doesn't go home for three days. He works himself ragged, pulling 19-hour days, to the point where his hands shake and his heart stutters from all the caffeine he's ingested. At the end of it he finally has a complete prototype design for a human-sized model. He ignores messages from Marcus, Cole, even Anya. It's nothing new; he's gone off the grid before when he's immersed in a project.

The Shepherd. It'll have to be built to work out all the kinks and fine-tune it, but now it's more than just a concept rattling around in his brain.

After days of avoiding all human contact, it's eventually forced on Baird. He's sitting at his desk, finalizing the schematics before he sends it downstairs to manufacturing, when the door to his office opens. He looks up, ready to tell whoever it is to get the fuck out, when he sees Cole.

"Good," Cole says. "You didn't off yourself."

Cole looks pissed. Baird can probably count on one hand the number of times he's seen Cole this upset. The last time was on Azura, when Marcus broke the news about—

Baird's defenses go up almost instinctually. "As if I'd be that broken up about it."

Cole lets out a long, slow breath through his nose. "What the hell happened, man?"

"Why don't you ask your new best friend? You've obviously been talking behind my back already."

"Oh, you do _not_ get to be mad about that. This happened _three days_ _ago_ and I only found out because I found Sam crying at the base."

There's a small, sharp pang somewhere in Baird's chest, but it's so dim that it's easily ignored. "I was busy. I have a company to run."

"Lord help me," Cole mutters under his breath. "Seriously. What happened?"

"The inevitable," Baird says, trying to look busy. Maybe Cole will take the hint and leave.

"Bull_shit_ inevitable. You two are good together. I'm sure whatever it is—"

"You can't fix this, Cole," Baird snaps. "It's irreparable. Just move on." _I know I already have._

Cole just shakes his head. "I can't talk to you when you're like this. Swing by when you're willing to listen to reason."

And with that, he's gone.

* * *

Baird finally goes home. There's a lot more space in his house than there used to be.

He gathers up a few necessities – fresh clothes, toiletries – to bring back to the lab and hunker down to get through the stress-testing process for the Shepherd. When he reaches for the door to his workshop, a wave of intense nausea almost brings him to his knees – his extreme compartmentalization threatens to explode around him. He turns around, leaving the door closed. He has all the tools he needs at work.

* * *

Baird stops working in his garage altogether. It's easier to focus at the lab.

* * *

**[A/N]** Welcome to my quarterly update schedule lol.

This chapter nearly killed me - I realized midway through writing it that there was a glaring structural error that required an overhaul of the timeline. Also, looking at Gearspedia now, JD actually has a birth year listed which wasn't there when I posted chapter one, so he's 3 years older in this story than in canon. Oops.


	3. III

BOY HOWDY do I wish I'd known about a lot of stuff that came to light in _Ascendance_ and Gears 5 before starting this thing. OH WELL.

So if some of this stuff feels like it's coming out of nowhere – it is! We'll just call this more canon-adjacent than canon-compliant, shall we?

**Content warnings**: description of an IV (if needles make you queasy like they do me), canonical character death

* * *

III.

_I'm sure you're wondering  
__Is this a new beginning or the start of another end _

**24 A.E. **

Everything is great. Baird's _fine_.

Business is good. Despite the holdups with the Shepherds – the robotic skeleton is coming along nicely, but their programming has proven to be a little more complicated than Baird originally anticipated – the government keeps purchasing orders of Watchers and Trackers and Builders as construction gets ready to go on Settlement 2. It's not just Windflares that COG settlements have to worry about now. The Stranded – or the Outsiders, as they preferred to be called now – have started raids. Small raids, just picking off resources. Nothing like what Baird had to deal with on Vectes with Massy and Ollivar, but it's got Dyer's panties in a twist all the same.

Baird basically lives at the lab now – he's got a lot going on. It's not like anybody _else_ is manufacturing the Windwalls that protect the COG's citizens. (He needs to rework those designs anyway; the Windflares seem to be only ramping up in intensity and Baird wants to stay ahead of the game. Better to protect his professional reputation.) So maybe he doesn't really go to the Delta mixers anymore – but those haven't been monthly for years now, and Hoffman and Bernie don't come all the way from Anvil Gate just to drink anymore. Baird sees Cole and Marcus enough without the meetups anyway. Sometimes once a month.

He's not avoiding Sam, he's really not. He just has other priorities. Civilization isn't going to rebuild itself.

* * *

Dyer calls Baird in for a meeting at the COG's headquarters, Government House. Baird's a little confused as to why; he can't think of anything he and the First Minister have to discuss. There haven't been any problems with the new Shock Trackers that Dyer ordered to dissuade Outsiders from targeting Settlement 2's base camp. Baird hates being dragged out of the lab but also knows that he can't say no to the First Minister. No one else is buying his robots in massive bulk orders.

He meets Dyer at his office in the late morning. The First Minister stands behind his polished wooden desk when Baird enters the room. They shake hands – their perfunctory greeting – and then Dyer motions for Baird to take a seat.

"Thank you for coming," Dyer says. "I'm sure you have an idea what this is about."

Baird wonders if all his coffee-fueled late nights are starting to catch up with him. "Uh, no, actually. Has there been an issue with the Trackers?"

"Oh no, your machines continue to perform wonderfully." Dyer hesitates for a second. "Well, the news hasn't been made public yet, but it should be on the front page of the papers tomorrow morning. I'm retiring."

"Uh, congratulations?" Baird can sort of appreciate why Dyer's giving him a head's up about this – but he figures that it doesn't really matter who replaces Dyer as head of state. The COG needs DBi if it wants to keep rebuilding.

"Thank you," Dyer says. "It will be nice to spend more time with the family. Anyway, I imagine you won't have to worry about cultivating a good working relationship with my successor."

Baird has no idea what Dyer's getting at; he decides to stay silent.

Dyer coughs awkwardly. "Uh, yes. The next First Minister will be Anya Stroud."

For a second, Baird thinks he's misheard. Anya – First Minister? That can't be right. After overseeing the Locust burials, Marcus and Anya hadn't hesitated to retire from public life. But now that Baird thinks about it, that might have been more Marcus's idea than his wife's. Marcus has never been particularly loyal to the COG as an institution, more to the people in it – Hoffman, Bernie, Michaelson. But Anya's always seemed like more of an idealist. After reunification and now that JD's getting ready to start boarding school, Anya might be looking for a way she can ensure the best future for her son. Even if Anya isn't a minister, who's going to say no to a legend from the Locust War?

Now it makes sense why Dyer was surprised that Baird didn't know already. But Baird hasn't really talked to Anya in almost a year.

"Well," Baird says, "I'm sure we'll work fine together."

"Ha, yes. Indeed."

"Is that all, First Minister?"

"Actually, there is one more thing." Dyer produces an envelope from his desk drawer. "Now that the banks have been re-established and our accountants have gone through all the old records, the government is in the process of distributing what's owed to its citizens. There's the matter of your backpay from your time in the military, of course, but I imagine you're more interested in your inheritance."

"My... what?"

Baird's chest clenches, and he's suddenly transported back to his youth – the day he received his university entrance exam results, only a few weeks before E-Day. He'd finally plucked up the courage to tell his parents he wanted to study mechanical engineering. He remembers the look on his mother's face, how she'd gone white with fury and immediately marched off to his father's study. Baird had eavesdropped on the conversation from the hall.

"_He wants to be en engineer? A damned _mechanic?_ I'm glad that my poor father isn't alive to see this. After all the education that Damon's had, all the privileges we've given him – he's a _Baird_, for God's sake. And a Lytton, too. He has _duties_. Now go and be a man for once, and tell him that he either joins the army, or he loses his inheritance."_

He'd been an idiot, thinking his parents would let him do something that he actually cared about. Not that it really mattered in the end, he supposed. Even if his parents had miraculously approved and he'd gone to university, he would have been conscripted into the army after E-Day anyway. If he hadn't voluntarily enlisted when he did, he probably wouldn't have met Cole, Marcus, Dom or—

Baird snaps himself back to the present. Dyer's talking numbers that make Baird's head swim; twenty-four years of interest on an already sizeable sum is staggering. He thinks he might be in a bit of shock since he honestly never thought he'd see a dime of his parents' money.

"You should see the funds in your account in a few days," Dyer finishes. "Congratulations. You'll be a very rich man."

"I guess so," Baird says. "Thanks for the, uh, head's up. On both accounts."

He heads back to DBi, but he finds it hard to focus for the rest of the day. The unwelcome memories from his upbringing gape like a void, threatening to suck him in. Shit he hasn't thought about in years is suddenly right there – the loneliness; the anger; the decision he made when he was too young that he didn't need anyone else, he could get by just fine on his own. It all seems very timely now, for reasons he refuses to examine. He can barely finish a thought at work so he calls it quits early for the first time in months and goes home.

If he pours himself one too many glasses of whiskey, well, no one's around to see.

The money shows up in his bank account at the end of the week. Baird nearly has a heart attack when he checks his balance and briefly wonders if someone accidentally coded a comma instead of a period. But the math checks out. It's just... a lot. Overwhelming. So much that he doesn't think he could spend it all if he _tried_.

Maybe it's time he started looking for a new place.

* * *

_WAR HERO ANYA STROUD NAMED NEW FIRST MINISTER_

Baird watches Anya's inauguration on TV. He probably should have gone in person, but, well... if he's honest with himself, he'd just rather put off the awkwardness for as long as possible. He'll have to face First Minister Stroud eventually, there's no getting around that, but he'd rather their first interaction in a professional capacity not be broadcast for all the COG's citizens to see.

Marcus and JD are present at the ceremony, standing off to the side so as not to distract from Anya's moment. Baird feels a pang in his chest as the camera lingers on JD for a moment, the reporter commenting on how grown-up the son of the legendary war heroes looks – and Baird can't help but agree. It's amazing how much children can change in so little time. Baird really should spend more time with his nephew. Soon, when he has more free time, he will. For now, he'll just have to assuage his guilt by building JD more toys.

What do six-year-olds even like, anyway? Baird can't bring himself to build toy soldiers, so he starts drafting plans for a mini Watcher.

Unable to put off the inevitable, Baird and the new First Minister schedule a meeting for the end of her first week in office. Better to lay the groundwork early than to just assume how things will go. The sense of trepidation that Baird feels as he walks the familiar route to the First Minister's office in Government House is, quite frankly, ridiculous. Baird's known Anya just as long as he's known Marcus – ten years at this point – and even if they were never exactly _chummy_, they've always gotten along fine. Maybe he's worried because Anya has always seemed like more of Sam's friend than his, and he's expecting that their breakup will have caused their mutual friends to pick sides. He tries to tell himself that Anya's always been level-headed; she was Control for years before she served on the front lines.

When he pushes open the door to First Minister Stroud's office, he's a little surprised by how much hasn't changed. Dyer kept the office pretty spartan and it's not like Baird was expecting Anya to repaint the walls pink or have doilies everywhere, but the only real changes are that the painting of Prescott (from his first year as Chairman) has been replaced with a portrait of Nassar Embry, and the family picture of Anya, Marcus and JD on the corner of the desk.

Anya looks up from some papers in front of her and smiles when she sees him.

"How are you, Damon?" Baird pulls a face; Anya smirks. "I thought I'd try it out. What did Dyer call you?"

"_Mr._ Baird," he answers, shuddering. He never liked it – but how else were people supposed to address him? He's not a corporal anymore and he technically never got a degree so he's not a doctor or professor. "Please don't call me that."

Anya laughs. "Don't worry, I won't. As long as you promise not to call me _First Minister Stroud_."

"Deal." Baird sits across from her. "But why did you take the job if you hate the title?"

Anya's smile turns a little sad. Not for the first time, Baird wonders how Marcus took the news when his wife announced she wanted to lead the COG. "Dyer did great work, don't misunderstand me. But there's more that could be done. And I want a hand in shaping the world JD's going to live in."

It sounds like a practiced speech. Who's Anya trying to convince – him, or herself? Although Baird supposes he isn't really entitled to the truth from Anya. They may be friends – acquaintances – whatever – but now Anya's sort of his boss. Oh sure, DBi is a private company, but the re-unified COG hasn't gone back to being a democracy. Not really. It might, under someone like Anya, but Baird's not going to hold his breath. If the last year has taught him anything, it's that he doesn't ever really know anyone but himself.

His heart stumbles in his chest, but only for a second. "Right, well. Better you than me."

"You'll have to come over for dinner soon. It's been months since JD's seen you."

"Sure, sure. Send me a meeting request."

Anya frowns slightly. "I don't mean it as a formal invitation from the First Minister. I'm inviting you as a friend. You haven't been over since—in a long time."

Baird sighs. He's getting tired of people tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. It doesn't bother him anymore, it really doesn't. "You don't have to worry about saying Sam's name around me. It's all water under the bridge."

Anya doesn't even bother trying to hide her skepticism. "If you two would just—"

"If Sam wants to talk, she knows where to find me." The fact that he hasn't heard from her _once_ since their relationship crashed and burned is enough of an indicator, though. He's just respecting her decision.

"You're both so damn stubborn," Anya mutters under her breath, quiet enough that Baird's not sure she meant for him to hear. Then she straightens. "Anyway. I'm sure we'll be seeing much more of each other around Government House. I look forward to continuing the previous administration's contract with DBi."

"Same here," Baird says, standing. "But seriously, if you send me a meeting request for dinner, I'll actually remember to come."

"Noted. Take care, Baird."

"You too, Anya."

* * *

Dinner with the Fenixes is a little awkward, but not anywhere near what Baird was dreading. He brings JD's new toy and a bottle of wine with him, something stupidly expensive that he hopes won't compare to Marcus's home-grown variety, more as an icebreaker than a desire to impress. Plus, he's got money to burn now. More so than before.

JD flings the door open before Baird has the chance to ring the doorbell, and then crashes into Baird's knees.

"Uncle Baird!" he exclaims, wrapping his arms around Baird's legs in a way that threatens to topple him over.

Baird manages to regain his balance before ruffling JD's hair. "Good to see you too, kid. I brought you something."

JD's face lights up like Victory Day. He backs up and holds his hands out expectantly, practically bouncing on his heels. Baird produces the small metal object he brought with him and places it in JD's grasp.

"What is it?" JD asks, turning it over in his hands.

Baird reaches out and presses a button on the underside of the machine. It's a smaller, stripped-down version of the Watcher – it can fly around and record things, but that's about it. Safe enough in the hands of a six-year-old. Bits of it begin to unfold and it lifts out of JD's hands, hovering in stationary mode. The kid's eyes widen and Baird assumes a million possibilities are racing through JD's brain right now.

"This is so _cool_!" JD circles around the Watcher, eyes bright. "How do I –?"

"Here." Baird holds out a small remote. There's only a handful of controls available, directions and simple commands, so hopefully his nephew won't be able to cause too much chaos.

JD grabs the remote and immediately the Watcher starts moving erratically in the air.

"James, are you going to invite our guest in?" comes Anya's voice from inside.

"Mom, Dad! Look what Uncle Baird got me!"

Baird steps inside the house to see JD and the Watcher zipping through the foyer, with Marcus and Anya observing nervously. Marcus shoots Baird a look, but Baird just grins back in the face of Marcus's annoyance. He knows full-well that Marcus is the one who will have to deal with the consequences of JD's new toy, what with Anya spending most of her days in New Ephyra at Government House. Baird's just bringing a little excitement into Marcus's daily routine of renovations and husbandry.

JD steers the Watcher around a corner, narrowly missing a decorative vase, and Anya immediately strides off after her son. "James! Remember we talked about being careful!"

"Thanks for that," Marcus grumbles.

"What are uncles for if not supplying chaos that I don't have to deal with?" Baird holds up the wine. "Here. I know Anya said not to bring anything and I know you grow your own now –"

"It's out of season," Marcus interrupts, taking the bottle. (Baird wonders if that's even true.) "This is from before E-Day? Big spender."

Baird flushes. "Honestly I'm surprised they even sell it and it's not in a museum or something."

Marcus snorts, and then leads Baird into the dining room.

Dinner ends up being fish that actually pairs nicely with the wine. Baird was worried that conversation would be awkward and stilted – or worse, that Marcus and Anya might try and offer him relationship advice – but JD does most of the talking, not noticing or caring if people join in. The tact of a six-year-old, Baird thinks, smiling to himself.

At least – JD chats up a storm until he seems to remember that it's dinner and he's hungry. When the kid turns his attention to his food, the excited smile slips off his face. JD pokes sullenly at the fish on his plate. Marcus stares at him from across the table, one eyebrow raised in warning. "Something the matter, James?"

"I don't like fish," JD mutters.

"That's funny, you liked it last week," Marcus says mildly.

"I want chicken nuggets."

Baird only just manages to disguise his snort as a cough. Anya meets his eye from across the table and smiles behind her wine glass.

"Tell you what," Marcus says. "You can eat what's on your plate and then you can have dessert. _Or _you don't have to finish, but then you don't get anything for the rest of the night."

JD, who'd perked up at the word _dessert_, scowls at his father as he deliberates his options. After a few moments of tense silence, JD slowly picks up his fork again and takes another bite of fish. He pulls an overexaggerated face of disgust but doesn't say a word. Marcus and Anya share a silent moment of victory and for once, Baird feels like everything is right in the world.

If only there wasn't an empty place beside him at the table.

His heart pounds disjointedly. He straightens up, takes a deep breath, and waits a few moments for the rhythm to return to normal. From across the table, Marcus shoots him a quizzical look. Baird shrugs and acts like he was just readjusting his position. It's nothing. He's fine. Just a little tired and overworked.

After dessert, JD is sent reluctantly to bed. The kid's clearly tired, yawning and blinking slowly, but he's at that age know where he doesn't want to be left out of serious, grown-up conversation. Baird remembers being that way around his parents and their friends – other magistrates, politicians, lobbyists. But children in the Lytton-Baird household were to be seen and not heard. Marcus and Anya aren't like Baird's parents, of course. Baird's pretty sure JD's bedtime was supposed to be an hour ago and he's been afforded the luxury of staying up to socialize.

"Promise you'll visit again soon?" JD asks sleepily as Anya tries to usher him out of the living room.

There's another stab of guilt, straight to Baird's heart. "Yeah, kid. I promise."

When Anya and JD are gone, Marcus turns to Baird. "Anya tells me you've been pulling some long hours," he says.

Baird grimaces. "What is she, my mother?"

"Cole says he hasn't seen much of you either."

_For fuck's sake._ "I'm _busy_," Baird snaps, aware that he's toeing the line of sounding like a petulant child. "The Windflares are getting worse and I need to keep up, the government wants Settlement 2 started by the end of the year _and_ they're planning to build at least three more settlements in the next few years _and_ I need to work on the AI for the Shepherds –"

"You still think that's a good idea?" Marcus interrupts. "The Shepherds, I mean."

Baird bristles. "What, why? They're just going to do menial labour."

"Just saying. You really think that down the line, somebody won't start thinking that there are better uses for those bots than trash collection?"

"We won't let that happen," Baird counters. "_I_ won't let that happen."

"Anya won't be First Minister forever," Marcus says. "And you won't be around forever either, unless you're planning on sticking that brain of yours inside a robot."

"Now there's an idea," Baird says, only half-joking.

Anya returns from putting JD down and Marcus lets the subject drop, evidently content that he's voiced his token concern. It doesn't escape Baird's notice that Marcus did it without his wife present – so maybe Anya's on his side, at least. Anya has always been the more optimistic of the pair; she can imagine the benefits of the Shepherds where Marcus can see only the worst-case scenario.

But maybe Baird can't really blame Marcus for that attitude, given everything that's happened to him.

They hang out for a few more hours, finishing the wine Baird brought and reminiscing about old war stories. Thankfully no one brings up any incidents where Baird was a complete and total asshole (and there are plenty of those), and Baird's aware that the Fenixes are deliberately avoiding stories where Sam was a central figure. That's fine by him. Whatever floats their boat. Anya helpfully reminds them of the time when Baird risked his life to save _Clement_ just because Cole was on board, and Baird flushes with embarrassment.

It's a good night, all things considered, but even in the warmth and comfort of old friends, Baird isn't quite able to shake the prickly, fragile feeling that crept up on him during his and Marcus's conversation. It stings, that Marcus doesn't support him – doesn't trust his judgement. Baird's annoyed at himself for being upset; he should have learned by now. When he lets people get close, they just have more opportunities to hurt him.

* * *

Baird finally lets Cole guilt him into going out for drinks to celebrate the Shepherds finally – _finally _– going down to production. He sort of regrets agreeing to go out at the end of the work day – he's feeling a little lightheaded, probably because he's been pulling crazy hours for the last few weeks – but he does actually miss his best friend, and figures he can sleep off the exhaustion the following day. After he's thoroughly inspected the first working models, of course.

They decide to try a new bar that's just opened, the Mor Hezi, which promises craft ales at reasonable prices and a "modern atmosphere", whatever that means. Privately, Baird thinks they're a little old for that scene, but Cole picked it and Baird figures there's less of a chance of running into someone he knows if they're far away from the usual haunts. What they don't find out until they arrive is that it's a standing bar – lots of tables, but not a chair to be found.

_Great_, Baird thinks as Cole heads to the bar for the first round. Although he spends most of his day sitting down, so really this is a welcome change of pace. He glances around the room, annoyed to see that his suspicions were correct: most of the patrons are probably at least ten years younger than Baird and Cole. He _definitely_ doesn't have to worry about bumping into any old friends in here.

"Did you hear the news about Jace?" Cole asks when he returns with their pints.

"No?" Baird feels a little bad. He hasn't kept in touch with Jace as well as he should have, considering what they went through together in the last years of the war. Last he heard, Jace had discharged from the army as well – just the latest in the long line of Delta defectors.

"He started a production company," Cole says. "Jace Statton Pictures."

Baird snorts. "Creative name."

"Coming from the guy who named his company _Damon Baird Industries_?"

"Okay, fair."

Baird's heart spasms. He winces, hoping his sudden discomfort isn't too noticeable. The last thing he needs is Cole asking after his health like a worried mother hen.

Cole seems none the wiser. "Can't believe the kid wants to be a movie star. Do you think we'll get tickets to the premier of his first flick?"

Baird grins weakly, painfully aware of the fluttering in his chest. Normally his heart gets its shit together and starts beating normally again after a few seconds. It'll pass. It always does. Cole is still talking – Baird's trying his best to pay attention but he can't. His heart continues to palpitate, and shocks of panic start to pulse through him with the irregular rhythm.

_Come on. Come on, please. Stop. _

Dots start to speckle his vision. He can't keep up appearances anymore – maybe if he sits down on the floor he can catch his breath –

"Baby?"

Cole sounds muffled, like someone stuffed cotton in Baird's ears. He should say something – say what he's feeling, what he's experiencing, but his body seems to have frozen. His head starts to spin – dizzy – is his heart even beating anymore? He can't tell – can't feel it – did his heart stop –

He reaches to check his pulse at the same moment the floor comes crashing up to meet his knees.

"Baird!"

He wishes he could breathe, wishes he could go back and do it over again, wishes this wasn't happening in a public place, wishes everything wasn't so heavy –

Someone grabs his shoulder, and then everything goes dark.

* * *

He comes to slowly, sense by sense.

Unfamiliar bed and sheets, quiet beeps and low murmuring voices, the smell of chemical cleaners.

_Hospital_, he thinks, even if he can't quite figure out why he's in one.

He opens his eyes and immediately regrets it as the fluorescent light directly overhead nearly blinds him. Groaning, he raises an arm to shield himself from the light – and then notices the thin tube running from the back of his hand down beside his bed and out of sight.

_Is that – an IV?_

A wave of nausea hits him as he seems to lose all sensation in his body except for his hand. It's _poking_ – sticking into his skin and his _vein_ and _oh shit_ –

"It's okay, buddy," a familiar voice says next to him.

Baird jerks his head towards the voice and locks eyes with Cole. His friend is sitting in a chair next to the bed, dark circle under his eyes, but relief evident on his face. The sight of Cole stops Baird's spiraling as he's able to focus on something familiar and _safe_. He forgets about the needle in the back of his hand for a moment as questions flood his mind.

"What happened? How did I end up here?"

Cole's face darkens slightly. "We're gonna have a serious conversation about your health when I'm done being worried about you."

Baird pales. "Um."

"I'll go get the doctor," Cole says, and stands up to exit the room.

His doctor turns out to be an annoyingly handsome Vasgari man, Dr. Chutani. The doctor explains that a year of poor diet, caffeine overload, no exercise and insane work hours contributed to Baird's body basically deciding to send an SOS signal and ask for a much-needed break. Baird could have figured that much out for himself, thanks. If only he hadn't been in public when this happened – he could have adjusted his lifestyle slightly and no one would have been any the wiser. Instead, he's got to face Dr. Chutani's calm, somewhat admonishing manner and Cole's worry. The latter weighs heavier on him.

After informing Baird that they're going to keep him at least overnight for observation, Dr. Chutani leaves to go attend his next patient. Baird sits in silence, feeling both chastised and indignant. It seems to him that people are making this a bigger deal than it is. He's just a little tired, a little overworked. Needs to eat a few more vegetables instead of take-out every night. It certainly doesn't warrant Cole admitting him to the hospital.

Cole breaks the silence first, because of course he does. "Shit, baby, you scared the hell outta us."

"Us?" Baird repeats warily.

Cole just grins. "I'll be right back. Gotta go get your other well-wishers."

_Oh god,_ Baird thinks as Cole disappears, mortification coiling under his ribs. Some naïve, idiotic part of him was hoping that no one else would ever find out, that he could somehow play it off without having to own up to the fact that he'd fainted in public and freaked Cole out enough to call an ambulance. So much for that plan. He sits up a little taller in the bed, tries to smooth down the wrinkles in the hospital gown, and hopes he doesn't look too awful for whoever's about to come in.

Cole returns less than a minute later with the Fenix family in tow. Anya's face is pinched and worried, Marcus looks torn between relief and anger, and JD looks confused and a little terrified. It's probably the first time the kid's been in a hospital, and Baird feels a guilty pang for being the one to expose his nephew to this.

And then Hoffman and Bernie walk in behind the Fenixes and Baird's face goes instantly red.

"Shit," he snorts, trying to distract from the rapidly escalating embarrassment, "how long was I out if you two got here?"

He expects Bernie to smack him upside the head lightly, but instead she marches right over to his bed and bends down to wrap her arms somewhat awkwardly around him.

"Jeez, I'm not _dead_," Baird mutters.

_Then_ Bernie whacks him on the back of his head. "Do _not_ scare me like that again. My old heart can't take it." She drops into one of the chairs next to his bed.

Baird can't help it; his eyes flick to the door, checking to see if there's anyone else lurking in the hallway. There isn't. He hopes nobody noticed him looking. He's _not_ disappointed.

"Does that hurt?" JD asks, pointing to the IV in Baird's hand.

Baird's actually grateful for the diversion, even if he is thinking about needles again. "Can barely feel it," he lies through his teeth.

"What's It for?"

"To keep me hydrated."

"Oh." JD's brow furrows. "Why?"

"Because your uncle's an idiot," Marcus mutters under his breath.

Anya nudges her husband at the same time that JD looks up. "Dad?"

Marcus continues glaring at Baird. "Your uncle didn't take care of himself properly so now he's in the hospital and the doctors have to take care of him."

"Eat your vegetables, kid," Baird says in a piss-poor attempt to lighten the mood.

"Seriously, Blondie," Bernie says, voice strained. "What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

God, _this_ again? "I was _thinking –_"Baird says, feeling his blood starting to boil, –"that I'm the _only one_ who can keep civilization afloat –"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Bernie scoffs.

"And strictly speaking, you're not," Anya pipes up. "The Shepherds aside, your employees know how to manufacture Watchers and Builders and Trackers without you micromanaging them. Right now the Shepherds aren't a priority; your health is."

"What are you gonna do, order me to go on vacation?" Baird jokes. But the resounding silence that follows his statement makes his insides twist. "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Consider it a suggestion from a concerned friend," Anya says. "But I'm not above revoking your security clearance."

"You wouldn't."

"Try her," Marcus growls.

Baird deflates. "Fucking unbelievable," he mutters.

Cole kicks his cot lightly. "Come on, man. Little ears."

Baird just rolls his eyes. Like JD hasn't already been exposed to plenty of colourful language. He cannot _believe_ that his so-called friends are going to punish him like this. If he doesn't have his work, then what is he supposed to do all damn day? Think – and his compartmentalization will crumble if he isn't at his office or working on the Shepherds' AI at home. He doesn't _want_ to think, not about _that_. He's over it. No sense agonizing about something that can't be changed.

He slumps back in his bed, jaw clamped firmly shut. He doesn't want to act "childish" in front of his nephew; there'll be other visiting hours where he can plead his case without _little ears_. Hoffman ducks into the hall and, from the sounds of it, corrals a nurse to interrogate her about Baird's prognosis. Marcus and Anya begin a hushed conversation in the corner of the room, and Cole and Bernie start to ask JD about his homeschool lessons.

Why are they still _here_? Can't they just leave him alone to sulk? God, he's suddenly drained. Must be whatever pain medication they have him on.

He closes his eyes, just to rest for a second.

"Come on. We should get going; he's exhausted."

"Probably the most sleep he's had in months."

"Is Uncle Baird gonna be okay?"

"Yes, James. We'll make sure of it."

* * *

It feels like his eyes are only closed for a few moments but when he opens them again, the lights are dim and it's dark outside the window. He starts a little, panicking a bit at the disorientation, but manages to get a grip again quickly when he remembers where he is.

And then he realizes he's not alone in the room.

Sam is sitting in the chair nearest his cot, flipping through a magazine despite the faint light. For a second, he thinks this must be a dream – that's the only thing that makes sense – but then her eyes flick from the page to his face and she freezes when she sees he's looking at her.

He's imagined this moment a hundred different ways: bumping into her on the street, seeing her across the crowded room of a bar, showing up at her doorstep late one night. Never did he once consider that they would reunite in a hospital.

"You didn't have to come," he says, wincing at how raspy his voice sounds. Damn dry hospital air.

Sam rolls her eyes – a gesture so familiar that Baird has to choke down a sudden lump in his throat. "If it was the other way around, would you have stayed away?"

No. No, of course not. Despite how things ended between them, if he had heard that she had been hospitalized, he would have dropped everything to make sure she was okay. Even if she never wanted to see him again.

"Good point," he concedes.

That elicits a small smile from Sam. The sight makes Baird's chest expand with something light and warm – something he hasn't felt in almost a year. God, he's pathetic. Why is he getting his hopes up? Sam's just assuaging her guilt or something by visiting him, nothing more.

"How did you –?" he starts.

"Cole phoned just after you were admitted. I would have come earlier, but I didn't want..."

Yeah, he supposes seeing each other for the first time in a year in front of their friends would have been a bit embarrassing. The disappointment he felt earlier at her absence lifts from his shoulders, despite his best efforts.

"How long have you been here?"

"About an hour. I didn't want to wake you."

"You could have." _Then we could have had more time together._

"From what I heard, you could use the sleep." Sam smiles softly. "Speaking of, I should probably head out. You look exhausted. And visiting hours are almost over."

She stands up, and electricity slams into Baird's veins. This can't be it, can it? Just a short conversation, and then she walks out of his life again forever? He can't control himself – he reaches out and latches onto her wrist. Probably squeezes too tightly. But he can't just let her go again without saying anything.

"I'm sorry," he blurts, before Sam can yank away or maybe punch him.

Instead, something almost seems to break in her face. "You couldn't have said that a year ago?"

"I should have."

It's such an easy admission. For the life of him, he can't recall why he didn't immediately call her the next morning and try to take it all back. At the time, stewing in his bitterness and heartbreak seemed like the most logical thing – but now, with a year separating him from that night, he can see with startling clarity what a fucking idiot he's been.

Sam twists her arm in his grip so that they're holding hands. "This is definitely a conversation we need to have, but not when you're about to pass out."

Is he crazy, or does it actually sound like Sam's going to come see him again? "So this is... to be continued?"

She smiles, and leans down to brush her lips quickly against his hairline. "I'll be back in the morning. Cross my heart."

* * *

True to her word, Sam arrives as soon as visiting hours begin the next morning. She and Cole walk into Baird's room, each carrying a paper cup of coffee and a bag that Baird hopes contains something for him.

"Didn't think to bring one for me?" Baird jokes, nodding to their cups.

Sam and Cole fix him with withering frowns. Evidently they're both taking Dr. Chutani's orders to limit his caffeine intake very seriously. Frigging great.

Sam opens her bag and produces a bagel that she offers Baird. He's a little disappointed that it's not something soaked in fat and grease, but after his breakfast this morning of a fruit cup and some bland toast, he'll take it.

"How are you doing this morning?" Cole asks.

"Same as yesterday," Baird says around a mouthful of bagel. "I'm fine. I want to go home."

Cole casts his eyes skyward, but lets it drop. He pats Sam on the shoulder briefly and says, "Have fun babysitting today."

Baird shoots him an unimpressed look. "Wow, thanks. Leaving already?"

"Just dropping Sam off on my way to the base. If you're lucky, maybe I'll be driving both of you home later."

Baird's face flushes, even though he knows that Cole just means driving them both to their respective homes if Baird gets discharged. He takes another bite of his bagel and hopes that no one decides to mention his face.

After Cole waves goodbye, Sam turns to Baird, her face suddenly serious. She drops into the chair next to his bed and takes a long drink of her coffee.

"We need to clear the air."

He swallows thickly. He's been both anticipating or dreading this moment. If only he could somehow just fast-forward his life and skip to the part where they've made up.

"Yeah," he says, a little weakly. "Okay."

"Why did you ask me to marry you?"

Oh god, right out the gate with the big guns. Baird winces. "You were right."

Sam cocks an eyebrow. "About...?"

Damn, she's not going to let him off the hook, is she? "I was scared," he mumbles. "Scared that you wanted something I couldn't give you. Scared that I was going to lose you if I didn't do something."

"That backfired stupendously."

"I noticed."

"I never wanted kids, if that's what you were worried about. I assumed we were on the same page about that. I assumed we were on the same page about a lot of things." Sam chuckles to herself. "Well. You know what they say about when you assume something."

"It makes an ass out of you and me, I know." Baird smirks briefly. "It was when I took that contract for the Ministry of Procreation. It got in my head, I guess, and shit – seeing how you are with JD, I dunno, I panicked."

Sam frowns. "I love JD. Just like you. So, what, you just assumed I must want kids because I'm a woman?" There's a bitter edge to her voice but Baird isn't discouraged by it. If anything, it's a welcome relief that they're almost fighting again.

"No! I don't know." He runs his fingers through his hair, exasperated. "I should have talked to you about it, instead of just assuming. But I guess I thought that... I mean, you loved Dom and he was the ideal family man, so I worried that that was what you always wanted. Still wanted. And you just... settled... for me."

Sam lets a breath out through her nose. "For a genius, you are such a goddamn idiot sometimes."

Well. He certainly wasn't expecting _that._ Baird glares at her. "I'm baring my soul here and _that's_ your response?"

"Do you honestly think that I'm still hung up on Dom?" she counters.

He balks. "I don't know! It's just that – if Dom had survived –"

"I won't lie," Sam interrupts, "I've wondered about that too. But hear me out. I don't think it would have worked out that way. Dom would have never let me get close. And I would have realized I wasn't actually in love with him." Baird must pull a face, because she gives him a warning look before continuing. "I was infatuated, definitely, but now that I've been in love... that wasn't what I felt for Dom."

His mouth goes dry. "Now that you've... been in love?" he repeats warily.

"Oh my god, do I have to spell it out for you?"

She sounds annoyed, but he could swear there's a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

"Well, I had my suspicious," he says, "but it would have been an awkward thing to be wrong about."

Sam reaches out and places her hand over his. "That doesn't mean I'm not still mad as hell at you, though," she says; Baird pales. "It means I think we can work this out. I _want_ to work through this – with you."

"I got a vasectomy," Baird blurts out.

Sam gives him a strange look and yeah, okay, that probably wasn't the greatest thing he could have followed her declaration with, but it's been weighing on him for this entire conversation and he needs to get it out.

"A few months after – after," he continues. He'd prepared a whole sob story before going to the clinic, about how his partner couldn't handle another miscarriage and he wanted to spare her the pain. Turned out it didn't matter. It's laughable, how easy it was. He didn't have to justify his decision even a little – all he had to do was sign some paperwork and agree to let the Ministry of Procreation keep a sample. He's certain that if he'd been a woman asking for a tubal ligation, it would not have been that painless.

"And you're telling me this because...?"

He smiles sheepishly. "Well, if we're gonna work this out, no more secrets, right?"

She gives his hand a brief squeeze. "Good idea. I promise."

"And I promise I'll never ask you to marry me again."

Sam grins, and squeezes his hand again.

* * *

It's strange, starting from square one again with someone you know almost better than yourself.

They can't just pick up where things left off and pretend like nothing happened – but neither can they act like they're newly dating and know nothing about each other. It's a strange dance. However, Baird has nothing but time on his hands to figure it out.

Sam seems to have saved up all her leave, because she's with him almost every day for a while. If he was feeling less charitable, Baird might suspect she was only making sure that he wasn't disobeying orders and working on the Shepherds in his workshop. But Baird's trying to move past that mindset now – automatically thinking the worst of people. Besides, if Sam feels even an ounce of the excitement that surges through Baird whenever he opens his door to see her standing there, they might just both be immensely enjoying making up for lost time together.

It takes longer than he'd care to admit for it to really sink in – that she's back, that he didn't just dream this up in a delirious moment. He wakes up a few mornings expecting it all to be a dream. But then Sam will be there a few minutes later, with a donut or some sort of baked good from the café near her apartment, and Baird will relax for the rest of the day.

The first time he kisses her after they're back together is mostly an accident. Sam's come over to make breakfast before she heads off for her first full weekend on duty since Baird was discharged. He's not overly looking forward to his first few solid days alone in a while, but a low-key breakfast was a nice way to start the morning.

He's clearing away the dishes from in front of Sam when he decides to be a little bold, and duck in for a quick kiss on her cheek. What he didn't anticipate was Sam turning in his direction to say something – his lips brush awkwardly against hers and they both flinch away quickly. It's like an electric shock just pulsed through him at the briefest contact, even if it was clumsy. He opens his mouth to apologize but then he sees the blush high on Sam's cheekbones and the familiar hungry look in her eye.

"Can —?" he starts.

"If you don't, I will," is her answer.

And after that... well, it becomes pretty hard to keep their hands off each other.

* * *

He comes over to Sam's apartment ostensibly to watch a movie, but it devolves pretty quickly into making out on her couch. As most things do these days.

Baird's perfectly fine with that. It was a shit movie anyway, from the first five minutes he actually watched as he valiantly tried to pay attention while Sam's had slid further and further up his leg. Although even if it had been a riveting drama, there's nothing that could have held his attention when Sam pushed him down and crawled on top of him.

He doesn't know how long they've been like this, legs tangled together and trading lazy kisses while they daylight drains from the room. It's both maddening and absolute perfection. He could happily spend all his time like this with Sam, her fingers fisting in his hair, the pressure of her body pressed up against him – but every time her weight shifts on his pelvis, he's reminded of how much further he'd like to go. He won't initiate if, of course, even if he is turned on as hell.

His eye catches the clock on her wall and he pulls away reluctantly. "I should probably get going," he says.

Sam's fingers curl around his wrists. "Or you could stay."

His heartrate ticks higher. "I could?"

"It's late. You should just stay."

"I would... be okay with that."

"Good."

Sam gets to her feet and heads towards her bedroom, leaving Baird to scramble after her. When he crosses the threshold into her room – the first time he's been inside after god knows how long – a pile of clothes is thrust into his hands.

"Jeez, warn a guy!" he says, barely managing not to drop anything. "Please tell me you're not expecting me to sleep in your spare..."

He trails off as he actually looks at the clothes and recognizes them. It's an old t-shirt of his that he just assumed he'd misplaced somewhere, and a pair of sweatpants he hadn't even noticed were missing. He must have left them at Sam's the last time he was here – over a year ago. Which means that she didn't throw them away. She _kept_ them.

The lump in his throat is absolutely _not called for_. He forces it, and his stupid sentimentalism, back down and gets changed like a normal adult.

He waits on the bed for Sam to come out of her en suite. When she emerges, Baird's heart flutters in his chest – in a good way. He doesn't even care if this leads to sex or not tonight. They're sharing a bed again; he can almost pretend the last year never happened.

"Can you get the light?" Sam asks as she slips under the covers.

"Oh, sure." Baird twists away to turn off the bedside lamp. When he turns back to the centre of the bed, Sam has somehow shifted so close that their noses nearly bump. "Hi."

"Hi," Sam whispers, and kisses him.

It's another gentle and unhurried kiss, warm lips that are slow and soft against his. He reaches out to cup her jaw, tilting her head slightly for a better angle but keeping the pace she's set. They stay like that for what feels like eternity – until Baird yawns unceremoniously into her mouth.

"Shit, sorry," Baird mumbles, blushing. "I promise that wasn't a comment on your, uh, talents."

Sam just snorts. "I'll try not to take it personally. Seems like you're still trying to catch up on sleep."

He grins. "Not like I have much else to fill my time with."

"Oh, I can think of a few things," Sam says, and he feels his face go red. "But not when you're likely to pass out before you get your trousers off. Now shut your yap and go to sleep."

"Yes, _mom_."

"You're lucky I know you're only teasing."

Baird huffs out a laugh, throws an arm around her waist, and pulls her close to kiss the top of her head. "I'm _very _lucky," he murmurs, and he's surprised that he barely regrets saying it out loud.

Sam tilts her head up to kiss his jaw. "Yes, you are."

* * *

Baird wakes up to the smell of coffee brewing and his mouth instantly starts to water.

He's alone in bed, which isn't surprising, given the aroma in the air. Swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, he waits for his brain to fully boot up. He hasn't slept that long or that deep in a long time. It's a bit pathetic to think that merely sleeping in the same bed as Sam led to such a restful night's sleep, but maybe it's as simple as the fact that it feels like they've finally put the past to rest.

His joints crack and groan as he gets to his feet. He wanders over to the kitchen, following that delicious scent even if he isn't totally convinced that Sam would let him have a cup of coffee again. Still, he can always dream. It's a short walk around the corner to the kitchen, and Baird finds Sam pouring a promisingly-dark liquid into two mugs.

"Somebody pinch me," Baird says, leaning against her fridge.

Without turning around, Sam says, "Don't get too excited. It's decaf."

"Ugh. What's even the point, then?"

"Some people actually just like the taste of coffee, you know."

"I don't trust those people."

"Of course you don't."

Sam turns around and gives him a smile, and then opens the fridge to pull out a jug of milk. And just like that, as she turns back to the coffee mugs on the counter, Baird realizes that this is what he wants _every morning_. Not necessarily the sleeping in and the coffee (decaf or not), but waking up after spending the night in the same bed and just _being_ together. This is what he's always wanted, and suddenly he's not afraid to just ask.

"Move in with me," he says.

Sam stops what she's doing, puts the milk down, and faces him. "Why?"

Unlike last time, there's no accusation in her voice. Just making sure they're both on the same page again.

There's a lot he could say. How he's missed her down to his bones, even if he refused to let himself feel it. How, even though he's been forced away from his job – his pride and joy – these past few months that they've been back together have been some of the best of his life. How he's been able to see with startling clarity what a goddamn idiot he'd been for making assumptions and nearly losing her forever.

But instead, he decides simplicity is the best option. "Because I love you."

And she smiles.

He's not sure who moves first, but suddenly they're both pressed together, wrapping their arms around each other as they crush their mouths together. Baird coaxes her lips open with his tongue, pushing past her teeth, frantic and dirty.

Sam pulls away and gasps, "But the coffee—"

"It's fucking decaf, shut up and get back here."

Sam shoves him in the direction of the bedroom, and there's not much talking after that.

After, they both retreat under the sheets for a mid-morning nap, just because they can. Baird feels more relaxed than he's possibly ever felt in his entire life. And, amazingly, content. There's no background anxiety – the desire to start tinkering with something to fill the time. For once, he's perfectly happy to just lie back and enjoy doing nothing.

But there is something kind of important that he hasn't told Sam yet.

"About moving in with me," he says, "There's just one thing I forgot to mention."

Sam cocks an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"I sort of bought a new house."

* * *

"Should I be nervous that you're driving me blindfolded to god knows where?"

Behind the steering wheel, Baird laughs. "Please. If I wanted to bump you off, I would have done that in the war."

"You could be playing a long game, I don't know."

But Sam continues to sit with her hands in her lap, and doesn't attempt to adjust the tie that Baird's placed around her eyes – in what is potentially a feeble attempt to be romantic, but he'll worry about that later. He's nervous. He can't really pin down why, but there's no denying the buzzing in his veins. Sam's already agreed to move in with him; surely the location shouldn't be a deal breaker. It is a lot to spring on someone, though.

He hasn't even told Cole that he bought this place. He made the down payment just before his stint in the hospital (and it's not like anybody else was going to be competing with him), and didn't tell his friend after for fear of it coming across as just one more poor decision Baird made while laser-focused on his work. As the car gets closer and closer to Baird's new property, he's also worried about how it might look from the outside – the level of extravagance.

Not that Sam can see, but they drive past the government offices at the centre of the city and to the new area under construction. The road winds through the new neighbourhood, each house getting bigger than the last, until they arrive at their destination. Baird puts the car in park and quickly opens his door.

"Don't move," he says to Sam. "Let me come get you."

"So chivalrous," she jokes.

He quickly moves around to her side of the car, and opens the door to help her out without hitting her head. Positioning her so she gets the best view of his new house – hopefully _their_ new house – he removes the tie.

"Ta-da," he says, without much fanfare.

At first, Sam says nothing. She blinks a couple times, probably adjusting to the light, or maybe because she can't quite believe what she's seeing. Baird feels almost nauseous from nerves now. Looking at the house – mansion, really – through Sam's eyes makes him see it in a different way. It's enormous – the biggest home built in this new district of New Ephyra. He knew it was ridiculously extravagant but he hadn't really cared when he made the deposit. But now – is it _offensively _extravagant?

Finally, Sam finds her voice. "Oh my _god._"

Baird's heart hammers away in his chest. "I don't know what that means."

"You mad bastard, you're _insane_!" But when she turns to look at him, her grin is almost as wide as her eyes, so it can't be that bad.

"So you – you like it?"

Sam laughs. "I mean, it's kind of over the top – but it's very you."

Baird frowns. "I don't know if I'm supposed to be insulted or not."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out soon."

"Very funny. So, is that a yes for moving in to this place together?"

Sam smiles softly. "I would live with you in a one-room shack in the ruins of Ephyra, for the record. But yeah. I think this place'll do."

"Oh, ah," All the blood in his body must rush to his cheeks, with how hot his face feels. "Good. That's, uh, yeah. Glad you, uh, like it."

"I would suggest having sex in every room in the house to break it in, but that might be a little ambitious."

Chuckling, Baird slings an arm around Sam's shoulders and pulls her close. "Why don't we make it our goal for the first year?"

Sam's still laughing when she pulls him in for a kiss.

* * *

**25 A.E.**

JD is sent to an elite boarding school befitting the son of two illustrious war heroes. Things are quieter, without a young kid running around whenever the squad gets back together, but it would have been naïve to assume that JD could get the schooling he needs at home. Anya's busy with First Minister duties, and Marcus never struck Baird as having a passion for teaching.

Besides, boarding school seems to suit JD just fine. The kid is charming and gregarious, even at only seven years old, and comes back for his first semester break with a budding best friend in tow.

Baird's taken off guard when he, Sam and Cole head over to the Stroud Estate to welcome JD home for term break and _two_ kids leap out of Anya's car. They go tearing into the house, JD barely sparing a glance at his uncles and aunt. Cole thinks it's hilarious but Baird feels himself deflate a little at the lackluster welcome.

"Who's the other one?" Baird asks – maybe a little tersely.

"That's Del," Anya says, like that somehow explains everything.

"He's a ward of the state," Marcus adds, perhaps a little bluntly but at least that answers Baird's follow-up question of why this Del isn't spending the break with his own family.

For the rest of the afternoon, JD and Del race around the grounds outside, only coming inside for a few brief moments for snacks.

And, okay, fine, Baird will admit it – he doesn't like Delmont Walker at first. If he were being honest with himself (which he never enjoys), he would recognize it as some ridiculous form of jealousy. JD's never had _friends_ before; they were like their own extended family unit, the Fenixes with Baird, Sam and Cole. But now someone's come in and disrupted their equilibrium.

It's absurd, to be jealous of a seven-year-old.

Baird's ridiculous resentment doesn't last long, though. He and Sam agree to watch the boys one day, to give Marcus and Anya some much-needed time together. They've been there for a couple hours, mostly supervising various wrestling matches and games of tag to make sure neither of the kids grievously injures themselves, when Baird notices all of a sudden that things have gone eerily quiet. That usually means JD's gotten into something he shouldn't have, but Baird decides to investigate on the off chance that they've both fallen out a window or something.

He finds the two of them in JD's room, looking like a mechanical bomb exploded around them. It takes Baird a second to piece the mess together – and then he realizes they've destroyed almost every toy that Baird's ever built JD. The anger builds inside him as he looks at all his hard work torn to pieces and he's about ready to lose it on both of them when JD notices his presence in the doorway.

"Del wanted to figure out how it worked," JD says brightly.

And then Baird sees it. They haven't wantonly demolished JD's bots, but instead meticulously taken everything apart and laid it all out for reassembly later.

"How did you get it to fly?" Del asks, gesturing to what used to be a mini Watcher.

Baird squats down beside Del and starts rooting through the parts. "Watch and learn."

Maybe this kid isn't so bad after all.

* * *

**27 A.E. **

When First Minister Stroud volunteers for the Ministry of Procreation's fertility program, it makes the headlines for _weeks_. Anya smiles proudly as she makes the announcement on television, standing beside her protégé Mina Jinn – the Minister of Procreation.

Marcus and JD are nowhere to be seen at the ceremony.

The next time Baird has a meeting with Anya, he makes sure to congratulate her and keep his face neutral. First Minister Stroud rarely goes anywhere these days without Jinn in tow, and the last thing Baird needs is to piss off an up-and-coming Minister who's clearly being groomed for succession.

But privately, Baird wonders what the hell Anya's playing at. The woman's almost fifty – and even if Baird isn't a medical doctor, he knows how uncommon "geriatric" pregnancies at that age were even before the war. Yeah, okay, humanity certainly needs all the help it can get to expand the gene pool again, but surely there are plenty of young, dumb idiots who've had procreation propaganda shoved down their throats for long enough that people like Anya don't have to do the heavy lifting.

Baird, Cole and Marcus meet up for drinks a few days after Anya's announcement. Baird briefly thinks about asking Marcus what he thinks about it all, but the tightness in Marcus's jaw warns Baird off.

Sam, too, is unsure about the decision.

"I know that JD's the best thing that happened to them," she says one night. "I just thought they were content with just him."

* * *

It happens one summer evening when life seems perfect, because of course it does.

Cole's come over for dinner, which Baird uses as an excuse to see how well Shepherds can follow directions to prepare a simple meal. It's half a joke, half a genuine test of the Shepherds' AI to see if the bots are ready for more complex jobs than just moving heavy construction equipment. It's actually going remarkably well, until one of the bots decides that, instead of placing Cole's dinner plate on the table in front of him, it's a better idea to dump the food on his lap.

There's a beat before the three of them bust out laughing.

"Okay," Baird manages to gasp, "so there might be a few – a few more bugs to work out."

"Ya think?" Cole responds, standing up to brush the pasta off his pants.

And then the phone starts to ring.

Cole, since he's already out of his seat, walks over to answer it. He grabs the phone and picks it up, still laughing. "Hello, Baird residence, what's –" He stops abruptly and his smile falters. "Yeah, Marcus, they're both – hey, man, are you okay? You don't sound –"

And then Cole's smile completely slips off his face, replaced with a horrifying mixture of shock and devastation. "How?" Cole asks quietly. "Shit, of course, we'll be right over."

Cole hangs up, facing away from them. Baird watches his friend's shoulders slump as he seems to almost fold in on himself. He instinctively reaches out to grab Sam's hand.

"There's been an accident," Cole says, his voice breaking. "It's Anya. Anya, she's …"

Baird knows what's coming but he doesn't want to believe it. He wants this moment to pause right here, keep them suspended in time before this horrible, undeniable knowledge changes their lives forever. He squeezes Sam's hand.

"Anya's dead."

Sam gasps beside him, her free hand flying to cover her mouth. Cole's crying now. Baird screws his eyes shut.

_You didn't hear him right_, his brain protests. _It's not true, it's not, it's not, it can't be, you're dreaming, this is a dream, you'll wake up any second and everything will be fine – _

But it won't be. Nothing's ever been, will ever be, as terrible as this.

"Marcus needs us to watch JD and Del," Cole says, sounding ragged, and _oh god JD – _

"How?" Sam asks.

"I don't know," Cole says. "He didn't say. He just needs us to – he can't leave JD and Del alone in the house while he –"

_Deals with the body._

Baird can do this. Baird can be practical. Someone has to be. JD needs someone to be strong and keep it together. Baird can be the one to do that.

"Let's go," Baird says, dropping Sam's hand and heading towards the door. "We'll take my car."

The drive to the Stroud Estate is quiet and tense. Baird's knuckles are stark white against the dark leather of his steering wheel, Sam is silent in the passenger seat, and Cole doesn't try to fill the emptiness with any kind of conversation.

A stupid, frantic part of Baird keeps hoping this is just a very vivid nightmare, that he'll wake up gasping in a second and laugh shakily at what he thought was reality. But he knows this isn't a dream. In his nightmares, the moment he begins to piece together that this doesn't feel quite right is the moment he wakes up. And that hasn't happened yet. No matter how _wrong_ this feels, he knows it's real. The most real thing he's ever felt.

They pull up to the Stroud Estate, which is bathed in the flashing red lights of the ambulance parked out front. For another idiotic moment, Baird has a brief surge of hope – if the lights are flashing, maybe that means that there's still an emergency, that Anya isn't really—

And then he sees Marcus sitting hunched forward on the steps leading up to the front door, and his hopes are shattered.

They pull up a few feet behind the ambulance and get out of the car slowly. Baird doesn't know exactly what he's supposed to do – he feels like he's sleepwalking – but his feet, or maybe his instincts, carry him towards Marcus. When he spots the trio approaching, Marcus stands up. Cole lengthens his gait and beats Baird to Marcus, wrapping him in a crushing hug.

Marcus doesn't even acknowledge the embrace. He just keeps staring straight ahead – at nothing in particular, from what Baird can tell.

"Marcus," Cole says gently, releasing the other man. "How are—?"

"James and Del are in the house," Marcus says flatly. "I need to go with the ambulance now."

"Marcus—" Sam starts.

But Marcus just brushes past them, like they aren't even there.

Sam and Cole stare after Marcus, clearly trying to decide if they should follow him or not, but Baird turns and heads into the house. Marcus is in shock, or denial, or _something – _but he's not the only one going through major trauma tonight.

He finds JD and Del huddled together at the base of the staircase in the foyer. A floorboard creaks under Baird's foot and both the boys look up at once – and the wide-eyed, confused expressions on both of their faces break Baird's heart. Shit, what is he even supposed to _say_? How are you doing? Terrible, obviously. Baird's devastated, and he hasn't lost his wife or his mother. He can't even begin to imagine how JD must be feeling.

Baird sighs, takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He can be there for JD.

"Hey, kids."

He walks over and sits beside JD, so that his nephew is sandwiched between him and Del. Just as he opens his mouth to ask something – if they want cookies or ice cream or, god, _anything_ – JD turns towards him and wraps his arounds around his neck, burying his face into Baird's collarbone. JD makes a small, choking noise, and Baird can feel the collar of his shirt growing damp.

He twists towards his nephew, pulling him in closer. Beside JD, Del makes a small sniffling noise too. Whether it's because he's empathizing with JD's misery or because Anya was practically like a mother to him, Baird doesn't know or care to ask. He maneuvers his arms as best he can to get Del in on the hug as well.

_God. God _damn _it._

* * *

"Jinn wants to bury Anya in New Ephyra."

Well, Baird certainly hadn't expected _that_ when he answered Marcus's call. He barely bites back the urge to snark, _hello to you too, I'm great, thanks for asking_. That's the last thing Marcus needs right now. So instead, he just goes with the flow.

"Fuck _that_," Baird scoffs. _She barely waited for Anya's body to get cold before asking her husband where he wants to bury her? Bitch._

"I told her, Anya's staying at home. With her family."

The venom in Marcus's voice takes Baird off guard. He knows Marcus has never been a fan of Jinn – how could he, when he's never been fond of politics while Jinn seems live and breathe statecraft? But this bitterness that Baird hears now seems above and beyond a simple personality clash. It's almost as if Marcus _blames _Jinn for something. But what fault could Marcus possibly lay at Jinn's feet?

Then Baird's stomach rolls as he wonders – does this have anything to do with whatever the hell they were doing at the Ministry of Procreation to Anya to try and get her pregnant again?

"Good," Baird says, managing to keep his voice steady. "Yeah, good. JD should be able to visit his mom's grave without coming into the city."

There's a very pointed pause on Marcus's part, which immediately raises Baird's suspicions. Of course Marcus hasn't called simply to bitch about Jinn.

"What?" Baird asks.

"James and Del are going back to school for the next term."

"_What_?"

Baird had assumed – they'd all assumed – that Marcus wouldn't send his son back to boarding school so soon after Anya's death. JD and Del are young, it wouldn't be a big deal for them to miss one term to stay home and adjust. But apparently Marcus has other ideas. "It's only been a few weeks –"

"What am I supposed to do?" Marcus growls. "Keep James at home so he can see –" He cuts himself off.

_See how miserable and lost you are?_ Being vulnerable has never been one of Marcus's strong suits. Not when Dom died, not when his father died. But throughout those tragedies, he'd always had Anya by his side to support him. Now, he has –

_He has us._

But Baird can already sense it – Marcus starting to retreat, pulling back into himself, in some weird way trying to protect JD from his grief. Baird might not be the most emotionally intelligent person on Sera, but he _knows_ that's not what JD needs. Marcus shouldn't be trying to protect JD from his mourning; they should be sitting together in it.

Baird also knows Marcus well enough to know that nothing he says will make a damn bit of difference when it comes to changing Marcus's mind. The only thing disagreeing would accomplish would be the destruction of their friendship.

"If you think that's best," Baird says finally.

"James will be fine," Marcus says quietly. "He has Del."

_Yeah, and you think you have no one_. _You stupid bastard._

* * *

For the next month, Baird wakes every single morning and thinks that it's all been a terrible nightmare. He wishes his brain would get with the program and stop dangling that groggy second of hope in front of him. He's tired of the crushing grief that smothers him every time he remembers.

* * *

After a brief period of mourning, Jinn's role as interim First Minister ends with a vote that makes her Anya's official successor. She's young – not even thirty yet – but from what Baird hears whispered around the halls of Government House, her political maneuvering is unparalleled. Anya taught her well, presumably anticipating the uphill battle it would be to have someone as young and unproven as Jinn follow her as First Minister. She must have already been thinking about retirement for Jinn to be so prepared – perhaps after the birth of her second child.

The possibility makes Baird sick.

The day of Jinn's inauguration ceremony, Baird gets to work in the outbuilding at the bottom of his garden. He drags his spare monitors and modems down into the basement and begins to arrange them into some sort of work station. Part of him wonders if he'd always known this day would come. Years ago, he'd built himself backdoor access into his bots – eighteen months or so after Marcus had voiced his reservations about the Shepherds, after Baird had finally calmed down and been able to look past his wounded pride.

Sam finds him when he's knocking hole in the wall next to the stairs in the back corner. What he's got planned is going to need a lot of circuitry if he wants this to stay hidden. He doesn't realize how long he's been at it until Sam lays a hand on his shoulder and he gets a whiff of the food she's brought with her on a plate.

"I'm not going to ask you to stop, but please take a five-minute break," she says quietly.

"Okay," he says.

After they've eaten in silence, Sam stays. She squats beside him and pulls her hair back into a ponytail.

"How can I help?"

God, he loves this woman. "Can you start hollowing out that wooden beam? I need to hide a keyhole in there."

Sam starts digging through his toolbox. "What are we doing?"

Baird cracks his neck. "I need to make sure no one but us can get in to this basement."

He trusted Anya. He can't say the same of Mina Jinn.


End file.
